Pan Returns to Wendy
by CammyWhammy
Summary: Just a sweet story of the coming of age and falling in love of Wendy and Peter. Please give me feedback. Thanks for reading, and enjoy.
1. A Way In

The room to the West was to be Wendy's prison for the whole of the summer, before she was sent off to some boarding school to become a lady. Aghast by her tendencies to think of pirates and half- dressed boys flying over her bed, Aunt Millicent had quite put her foot down and insisted that a lady needed her own room. As she lay awake in her bed, she heard Mrs. Darling cooing over the boys, who had fallen asleep as quick as their nightlights were lit. There were to be no nightlights here to soothe Wendy, as this was a 'lady's room'. Wendy listened intently and heard some shuffling about. Mrs. Darling was sorting about the thoughts of her brothers. With a chuckle, Mrs. Darling recounted and organized the memories of her little ones. A couple of years ago, Mrs. Darling had riffled through the thoughts of littler Wendy, and found naughty Peter Pan dancing about in her mind. Mrs. Darling had done quite well to push thoughts of Peter to the very bottom of Wendy's mind, but now left to sort her thoughts herself, poor Wendy wrestled with the flying Pan on her own. This had been a problem for several nights, now. She felt as if when she fell asleep and adventured in her Neverland, Peter seemed to always be hiding behind a tree, although she never did see him. In fact, she never did see anybody in her Neverland, and she felt quite alone. In the Nursery, her brothers had leaped from head to head, causing all sort of wretched adventure towards each other. She had had to put sticky tar all about her little house made of leaves to deter their visits. It was so obscure, who's Neverland was who's, that if you held up all three next to each other, you would have certainly known they were from the minds of siblings, such as if they had the same nose. Now, isolated from the rest, she was not even in the same season as her brothers, as they were both still frolicking in mid-spring! Wendy felt sleep finally coming to her, and with dread she realized that once again, the thought of Peter Pan was forefront in her mind.

Peter had indeed come back to see Wendy, mostly to see if she told stories about him. He would gleefully sit by the window, quite full of himself as she recounted adventure after adventure. Some of the stories even took him by surprise, as he had a terrible knack of forgetting things almost immediately. This was, of course, because he had no mother to sort out his thoughts before bed. But, alas, he had watched after the nightlights were lit, Mrs. Darling coming by and tut tutting at Wendy's forefront thought of him. He scornfully watched as she tucked away precious thoughts of him to the very bottom of Wendy's mind.

Now, the tables had turned. Unsupervised, Wendy's Neverland opened itself to sleep. With delight, Peter carefully opened the window and softly floated into her room. He floated just above her form and softly let gravity push his body onto hers. He was still floating, though, and it felt to Wendy as if she had been applied another blanket.

"Wendy…" He whispered softly into her ear. He loved to watch her dream. She squirmed, slightly, and he saw that in her Neverland, she turned quickly around to see if Peter was there. It was very naughty to make her think he was there, and it was naughtier still that this was not the first time he had baited her. He watched in satisfaction as she looked about with her big blue eyes, her pet wolf whining inquisitively. He wanted to reach out and to touch her lovely hair, but he was too afraid. He would never admit to fear, though, and reasoned that he just so enjoyed playing with her this way. He felt himself a clever trickster, when to the trained eye, it was obvious he was woefully love-struck.

Tonight, he had built up his courage. He came out from behind the tree and smiled at her wickedly, for she had yet to find which tree he hid behind. Her wolf's ears perked suspiciously and he floated behind her. He drew in a large breath, which gave away his position, but not before he blew on the ground, creating a huge updraft and sending Wendy's nightgown floating precariously upward. Laughing, for he had seen her nakedness, she finally turned to him, blushing and heart pounding.

"It is not good form!" She began hotly. She tried to finish, but it had been so long since he had visited her she could not continue to scold him. She had gotten quite a bit taller, even taller than him, and noticing this, Peter became quite vexed. It was of no consequence to him, of course, since he was so talented at make believe. His pride came before his concerns of being a man, and he simply imagined to grow, just enough to be able to peek over Wendy's head. She held her breath as he grew suddenly.

"Peter! You've grown up!" She said aghast. He blew a raspberry quite dramatically.

"I have not! I have merely grown to be as big as you, and you certainly are not grown up!" He reasoned. His voice had grown deeper, and he pretended not to notice as it would spoil the fun. Suddenly remembering his manners, he bowed to her graciously as they had done upon their first meeting. She smiled and curtsied back to him. Remembering suddenly a much more interesting greeting he had seen from the fairies, he reached for her hand, and taking it quite delicately to his mouth pressed his lips clumsily to it. He looked to her to see if he had done it correctly, and out of good form, she did not correct his clumsy kiss. Instead, she dashed her good form and held him quite close.

"I've missed you, Peter." She said wiping her eyes, and possibly nose, on his little leaves. Feeling quite full of himself for having someone grovel over him, he did not return her affections. Instead he haughtily looked over her head, and relished in feeling quite tall. She tightened her embrace, and he felt his heart flutter and thump about wildly. And as Wendy's ears were so close to his chest, he felt completely embarrassed that she might hear his traitorous feelings, and that she would poke fun at him endlessly for it. He released her.

"Shall we have an adventure, my Wendy Darling?" He cajoled.

" _Your_ Wendy Darling?" She scoffed, now reaching for her sword made of sticks. "I belong to no man! For I am Red-Handed Jill, the killer of husbands, and you shall not take me!" She unsheathed her weapon, and he parried with his clever little knife he hid among his leaves.

"I will take you as my prisoner! You will never escape!" He laughed gleefully and the game was afoot. How at ease he felt playing with Wendy. His laughter felt more genuine and rang deeper in his chest. As they stumbled about, dodging and swinging. He felt completely at home, in her little Neverland, he had nearly forgotten his own.

Now in complete pretend, he cared only of winning the game. Capturing the prisoner, and making her pay for… whatever crime he had imagine she had done against him. For stealing his thimble (for he was still so sore on the subject, and never fully had gotten over it).

Heated, and only caring about winning, Peter did rely on naughty tactics. He would stick out his foot to make her stumble back, and even once bopped her quite rudely on the nose, just for his own amusement. She nearly had cut his own nose off for that, but caring less and less for rules resorted to cheating. Peter hooked his little knife into the hilt of her sword and twisted it so that it flung from her hands and into his own. Backing her to a tree with her own weapon he lifted the sword to her neck threateningly.

"You will pay for your crime, Jill!" He sang, in quite an impressive impression of old Hook.

"Is that so?" She asked slyly, "And what is my crime?"

"Lying." Peter said grinning wickedly in her captured face. She blanched.

"But I have not told a lie."

"Aha! She lies again!" He exclaimed gleefully. He pressed his face close to hers and whispered so haughtily. "I know your secret, Red Handed Jill." Her heart did beat fast, for she was not at ease to have his face so close to hers, and she felt he had not idea how it affected her. But she kept her pride, even when her heart was in her throat.

"And what secret is that?" She teased from him.

"You secret about kisses." He said, dropping his dagger and pulling a rusty thimble from his vest. "This is no kiss, it is a fake!" He threw it on the ground, quite regretfully as he truly had a connection with the object and did not want to lose it. He was thrilled to see her face. He could tell that he had won the game, and he could decide the prize. He did so much love her kisses and he thought about taking one from her. It was fair after all, he had won. He looked at her mouth, who's right hand corner called to him. He wanted to kiss her now, and it was more maddening than before. Peter had been left so alone in Neverland, never to experience kisses again, just as he had received his first. He would never admit it, but his hunger for them had deepened ever since, and he quite often imagined he could steal one from Wendy again in a moment such as this. But he did not know if it was right. What if she did not want a kiss? But, alas, they were only playing pretend, he had won the game and captured the dreaded Red-Handed Jill. His thoughts quite wickedly arranged themselves in his favor. Now he knew what he wanted from her.

Wendy looked at him quite peculiarly as he pondered. Peter had such a bad habit of running off with his thoughts. It disturbed her, and completely thrilled her to watch him frantically look into the right corner of her mouth, and her lip twitched.

Yes, yes, he had won, after all, he told himself, and it was only pretend. It was only pretend…

Suddenly, thoughts to the wind, he kissed her, not exactly knowing how. His pride suddenly exposed as he realized he really did not know, he opened his eyes, half lidded and peeked. Her eyes were closed, and her cheeks were red. Thrilled at the sight, he dropped the sword and brushed his hands delicately onto her cheeks to feel their heat. His heart pounded, and he grew ashamed, for he was sure that she would hear. Growing scared he whimpered, a bit like a dog and began to untangle himself when she placed her hand strongly on his back and held him reassuringly. Encouraged by her embrace, he committed another theft and kissed her again, puckering her lips with his he felt the delicate softness of their flesh. Wendy, completely at Peter's will, was enraptured. Slowly, the kiss broke, their hungers abated and egos left raw. Quite suddenly, Peter pressed his head to her chest and he listened. The frantic pounding of her heart gave her feelings away, and he looked up at her slyly. Wickedly he whispered to her.

"I have captured you, Red Handed Jill, and stolen your Kiss. Come try to kill me, if you dare." Peter then bent to pick up his knife (and deftly, his thimble) and began to walk away from her. Left in a daze the autumn trees in her Neverland took to shaking wildly, as if a great shiver had overtaken them. Her wolf lay lazily, flicking its ears from the irritation of falling foliage. He looked back at her once more, leaves all about him, as he sheathed his little dagger.

"Good night, my Wendy Darling." He said. If he had smiled wickedly at this, she would have been vexed for he would have been teasing her with his winning the game. But he did not smile, and she wholly knew that he meant to have her. Or rather, that he already had her.

I am so happy I got this little guy out there. I don't know if there will be other chapters. Read and Review, we will see.

Until next time….


	2. Stirring a Pot

Wendy had awakened from a very potent dream indeed. Her cheeks were still warm and there was an ominous draft from the bedroom window. Her heart was already in a frantic pattern, as she had seen Peter Pan once again. She hadn't really seen him, but nonetheless it had been enough. The sweetness of his kiss lingered on her now, however make-believe, and she had a feeling he had left it there quite intentionally. In getting out of bed, the real and unmalleable nature of the world around threatened to break her now wildly spinning daydreams. Had she left the window open? She could not recall, for she had doubts that she had even dreamed it at all. She resolved to not leave the house at all that day, and began reading frantically all of her favorite novels to keep herself suspended in a daydream. She truly had found a new fondness for sleep. That night, she went to sleep ever so eagerly, making sure that Pan was forefront in her thoughts. But she would not see him tonight, or any nights in the coming week. She even found herself checking behind the trees of her Neverland in hopes to find even a presence of him.

Pan had acted foolishly indeed! In his excitement to retrieve his kiss, he had let himself grow up just a bit, and he found to his dismay that he could not pretend himself young again. It was quite logical, after all, because he did not really want to be _that_ young again, for how would he reach for Wendy? Oh, but the horror. Last night, he had felt so sly and clever, stealing kisses and having reasons to do so. It was not until he had returned home did he realize that his disguise was not all good and Wendy must have seen how he was so full… of feeling. The thought disgusted him. He wriggled in shame. Never again would he go after Wendy's Kisses.

For a while, his resolution was perfectly sturdy, but as the days grew on he had felt that he had taken his one big kiss and shattered it into a million pieces. The tragedy of it all was that they all truly belonged to Wendy and they longed to be on her lips again. To make matters worse, every day they became more restless and hungrier. He fashioned a small pouch for them and packed them all quite uncomfortably in it. He tied it deftly around his hip and carried them around with him. They were quite cumbersome, and always fought to escape to whisper naughty things in his ears.

 _"If you pretended to be drowned by mermaids, would Wendy not come and breathe air into you?"_ One slyly suggested.

He would hear their whispers so often it was like living with a hive of mosquitoes. One, he felt was particularly awful, as he could hear its whispers, but as soon as he would turn his head to catch it, there would be nothing there.

What a mess he had made of things, he thought as he lay in his all too cozy bed. He was truly offended with the word 'love', now. Although, he could not deny that he was afflicted by it. Close to dying from it, he feared.

The million kisses kept him awake and he found himself completely miserable.

 _"Go to Wendy, if you kiss her a million times, all your kisses will have been spent and we shall never bother you again!"_

He rolled over in his little cot and covered his ears with his hands. This was the most enticing whisper of them all, and to his dismay, agreed wholeheartedly on its reasoning. It was not 20 minutes that he had to think on it before he was halfway to Kensington Gardens.

Wendy, bitterly resolute that he had left this little kiss to torture her, spitefully kept the window open to welcome him to battle. He knew her feelings, and so how dare he play with her like that! It was not without her knowledge, though, that the thought of him playing with her 'like that' deeply thrilled her.

It came to be her doom that she had left the window open, for it gave Peter no opportunity to rethink his plan. He would plant his million kisses and be done with loving Wendy. But how, he had no idea.

Wendy was in her little hut, now. Not daring to go into the forest, as the trees were too great a tease to not look behind, and it did indeed make her feel a fool when there was nothing there.

Wendy heard a soft _Tap Tap Tap_ from the doorknocker. She had not time to swallow her excitement as she came to the door (a whole two steps). When she opened it, a nervous Peter greeted her. He bowed and took her hand, softly planting a more experienced kiss on her hand which puckered to her skin sweetly. One down, he thought. He looked up from her hand to spy her reaction. She had completely melted of course, not just from the kiss, but from the way his glorious green eyes gazed curiously up at her. Finding her breath, she spoke.

"You are horribly late for tea time, Peter, I would hope you have good reason." She pretended to fuss around the house, picking up imaginary cups to place the on the table, and putting the kettle back on. Peter needed no introduction to play, and he deftly picked his imaginary hat off of his head and placed it on a hook by the door, which was not really there either. It was good that the stools were real as it would have been horrid to pretend to sit the whole time. Peter sat carefully on his stool, and picked at his leaves, arranging them nicely. He was ashamed to admit he had very little practice with tea time. Wendy sat down, and tied a vine around her neck as a necklace and he felt it looked wonderfully becoming on her.

"So?" She asked, while arranging cookies and treats on a plate.

"So…?"

"Why have you come so late?" She asked again.

"Ah, well…" He could not think of anything, for he had never been good at small talk. To make up for his ignorance, he picked up a teacup and, with much gusto, thrust his pinky upwards in such a fashion. For a while there was silence between them. He had completely forgotten, of course, that he had not answered her question, for he was now wholeheartedly plotting how to plant all his kisses. Wendy watched him as he stared outside the little window.

"Peter, are you well?" She asked.

"Yes, well… no…" He replied honestly. "I am awfully tortured at the moment…" In truth, some kisses had escaped and were currently whispering dreadful things to him. He clamped his on the pouch in his lap and squeezed it shut. In his clambering about, he said quite naturally what was on his mind.

"Did you like my kisses?" He asked, before he could stop himself. Wendy, although truly shocked by his question, magnified her surprise by pretending to spit tea in a dramatic fashion. The gesture made him completely ashamed.

"Oh, yes, they were fine Peter, but I do believe you have left one behind to pester me." She said, quite contained.

"Oh!" He said, as if he had only left a shoe, or a book. "I'm so sorry, I must have forgotten…"

"You may have it back, if you like." She teased. Now he saw through her ruse and he could detect the playful glint in her blue eyes. Seeing an opportunity to relieve himself from a kiss, he leaned quite clumsily over the table, mouth parted, eyes closed. Wendy gazed at his vulnerable face, how unlike Peter to make himself so easy.

"It is not proper…" Wendy began. "To court a lady in such a way, Peter. You may have your kiss once we have taken a turn around the garden." His eyes opened slowly and he began to lose patience, but he conceded. He stood upright and held his arm to her.

"Shall we take a turn about the garden, then?" He asked in his most delicate tone. He had seen through her plan but was more than willing to partake if it meant an opportunity to plant his kisses. Wendy took his arm ever so gracefully and they made their way out the door. They had not taken two steps before Peter, forgetting his hat, leaped back into the house to grab it off of the hook.

They flew in a wonderful fashion to a field full of flowers. It was no garden, because Wendy had not taken the time to imagine herself a romantic garden, and could only envisage wild gatherings of common flowers.

"Peter, what is your purpose in courting me?" She asked.

"To get kisses, of course." He replied quickly. They began to walk, but Wendy became quite annoyed when Peter elongated his strides and quickened his pace, nearly running around the field, her hand tightly hooked into his arm. She had no choice but to follow. Without her breath, Wendy gasped after him. She had not even the chance to tell him to slow down when he turned around to face her and she bumped quite forcefully into him. They had already taken a whole turn. He looked at her expectantly, too thin on pride to ask her for the promised kiss. Wendy, too proud to give him what he wants. He merely waited and watched her, and he quite forgot what he was waiting for. Just because he wanted to, he held her by the waist and began to sway, humming a tune. Wendy was all too happy to dance, and she put her arms around his neck, which all too naturally pulled his head towards hers. It may have been possible that they were floating now, because if happy thoughts could glow, they surely would be alight with them. Peter's kisses whispered wickedly now, and he knew that poor Wendy was in no position to resist, but so enjoyed to dance that he delayed his impulses. Wendy, on the other hand, had become so smitten by his quiet humming and gentle swaying of her that her lips did float so naturally towards his. Surprised but certainly not disappointed, he let her kiss him. He could have kissed her back, but he enjoyed receiving her kisses, without having to give any back. She placed them quite softly on him and the pouch on his waist began to swell with kisses. He could not afford to hold on to so many at once. His lips parted and he leaned into her planting a heavy, weighted kiss. Suddenly those kisses were not sufficient, and he brushed his lips across her cheek hungrily, running large wet kisses up her jawline. His soft humming turning to moans. He was holding her so tightly, now, and knotted bundles of her nightshirt in his hands in unease. Sensing his sudden urgency, she felt scared. She had never seen anyone kiss like this, and for the first time, she was ignorant in their strange play. She tried to push away from him but he would not release her. He did, however, stop kissing her. He observed her quite worriedly.

"Did I do something wrong?" He whispered, his heated eyes searching hers.

"No… I mean… I don't know… Peter I don't know what we are doing." She replied. At this he laughed heartily.

"I don't know either, but Wendy, it is just pretend." He said, quite amused. A sudden blissful thought hit her as she realized that it truly was all pretend. Then, she felt completely saddened, because she felt her life would be nothing if this moment with Peter were not real. He began to hum again and took her hand in his to resume his thoughtless dance. He pressed and played so lovingly with her fingers that she felt her lips deviously drifting towards his again. He, of course, welcomed them wholeheartedly, breathing in deep as they locked together. His heart began to absolutely flutter, and he resolved it was not fair that he had caught her while her heart had beat so hard for him in the woods. He had won last time, now it was her turn. Saying nothing, as he was too engaged with his mouth, he placed her hand on his chest where she most assuredly would feel the organ beating violently against his ribs. She felt it, yes, but she somehow seemed more fascinated with the feel of his skin and she pawed at him so. Filled will unease, and uncertainty, he took to knotting up her nightgown again. Unconsciously he began to gather the fabric and it rose quite wickedly higher on her legs. Wendy guessed at what he wanted from her, and the thought absolutely thrilled and chilled her. Regardless of her fears, she pulled away from him and quickly pulled the hem of her nightgown over her head. She had acted without thought, and had not expected to feel so cold. Suddenly realizing her vulnerability, she looked at him pleadingly. Peter was completely aghast. He had no idea why Wendy had stripped so suddenly. He looked at her naked form. He had seen her naked before, but now he really looked at her. Her girlish figure was swollen with adolescence. Her hips widened, her breasts… how had he not noticed. His Wendy always seemed just so to him, just Wendy.

"W-Wendy…" He began, suddenly noticing that his throat was completely swollen. She shuffled uncomfortably, hiding herself with the cloth of the gown. He looked at himself now. His hands, his feet, his… throat was not all that was swollen and he realized now that the pouch full of kisses was never actually there, it had been all pretend. Instead it was replaced with a… He felt suddenly foolish, and felt his lip tremble. He saw his Wendy shiver and he suddenly forgot his shame. He walked towards her and gently enveloped her in his arms, the way he knew she had when he had had nightmares. He was suddenly aware of the cumbersome flesh protruding from his hip and poking menacingly at her. With all their embarrassment combined, they were sure to open up a shop and never run out of stock. To spare him his shame she embraced him anyways, pretending it was not there. He was thankful for it. He looked at her thoughtfully.

"Thank you for holding on to my kiss, Wendy, but I insist you keep it." He said. She flushed.

"No, I would rather you keep it. It is so wicked for you to leave it with me." She retorted. She was a bit broken, she admitted, and benefited greatly from Peter's soft swaddling of her.

"Why would you think that wicked of me?" He chuckled.

"You know how I feel about you, Peter. How awful you leave a thing like that to someone who feels for you, it is absolutely wicked."

"Wendy… Surely you must know that I love you." He asked, as if he had plaintively told her a thousand times. She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with tears.

"Really?"

"I'm absolutely consumed by it, Darling." He said, with a soft smirk. Although his words were so sweet, it did not seem to ease her, instead tears began to plummet down her cheeks.

"But Peter, it is all pretend, isn't it?"

Peter suddenly had no words to say. He rubbed his thumb in circles on her skin as if to soothe her, but it did little to calm her, as the feeling could be nothing but bittersweet.

Peter would not leave her then. She fell back into the land of England and he was trapped there to suffer a long cold night in Wendy's Neverland.

Very excited about this story, I might have a runner. Hooray! Let me know if you enjoyed this chapter.


	3. Really There

This really is an M rating, isn't it? I've tried to keep it innocent but I'm having a hard time drawing a line in the sand. I'm going for more coming of age than outward smut, but you know... it's all in good fun.

As the moon did rise, the air became frosted. All around, Peter could see the flowers sleeping. Seeing an opportunity to please Wendy, he picked handfuls of the flowers and took to decorating her little house with them. He had never been in someone else's Neverland, as he always was so good at luring them to his, but he resolved that it was only fair. When he truly began to shiver, Wendy's wolf emerged to keep him warm. Tucked in her warm fur, he took to fashioning himself a row of pipes. To the wolf's dismay, it led to Peter pipping on his pipes for the remainder of the night. The wolf clamped its ears to its head, quite annoyed at this guest.

Wendy, oblivious to Peter's trapped position, went about her day quite in a daze. It was mid-summer and she should be about having fun with her brothers, but she felt distant from them. It felt… as if she had no space in her head for games. She could not however hard she tried, shake the memory of Peter's hungry kisses. She was absolutely smitten with his regular ones, but that one dark kiss lingered malignantly in her mind. To her dismay, it made her nerves tingle with anticipation. She was not even sure if she wanted to sleep that night. She pondered her dilemma as she entered her bedroom that evening and it was with a start that she saw her bed was already occupied. Peter, pipes in hand, lay sleeping on her bed. She grimaced as she saw his dirty feet lazily strewn upon her clean white sheets. Pan had lulled himself to sleep with his soft pipping, and tumbled out of Wendy's Neverland. Struck by the reality of him, she quietly tiptoed her way towards him. His eyes were still, as if no dreams played behind them. To see if he really, truly was there she brushed his arm with the back of her hand. She jumped a bit as she half expected him to be pretend, but his skin was warm, and he was very real. So, their kisses had been real, too, in a way. The thought made her a bit ashamed as she knew mother would certainly not approve of her doing so. A soft murmur escaped him and she suddenly saw his eyelids flutter with dream, but the knotting of his brow suggested it was no dream, but a nightmare. She had held him often when he had bad dreams and she did not hesitate now pull him close to her now, and hushed his moaning. She gently led him out of his nightmare and his eyes opened lazily, casting a hardened stare in her direction. She did not look at him, for she was so shy at seeing him in person after all their frolicking about.

"Wendy?" He called lazily, tempting her gaze in his direction. She locked eyes with him and a sudden feeling of belonging course through her.

"Yes, Peter?" She whispered back.

"Is it alright if… this is not pretend, now, is it?" He asked confused, still groggy from sleep.

"No, Peter, this is not pretend."

"Should we make it so?" He asked, a bit frightened by the concept of reality.

"I suppose so. I should really get to sleep." She reasoned. He looked down at her in her stuffy English clothes. He had to admit, he felt she looked becoming wearing anything. Then the thought of her naked form flushed his mind.

"You're not dressed for sleep."

"No… but you see, it's not proper." She gazed to the nightgown on her chair.

"I won't look." He said convincingly. She released her hold on him and made her way nervously to her boudoir. Casting back glances at him she saw that he was indeed looking. Ashamed she looked away, beginning to unfasten her dress. Surely, now he could not be looking. She peeked in his direction timidly. His eyes were steadfast in her direction, not even flinching as she caught him in his lie. Peter never really had any intention not to look. It was his Wendy, after all. Looking quite red and bare she stared at the safety of the corners of the room and stripped quickly, giving Peter a very limited view of her naked skin. He watched as she pulled her nightgown over her head and over those curious looking breasts. She made her way, then back to her bed. She shuffled herself beneath the covers and she tucked him in also, as it was her habit, and he so loved to be tucked.

"Goodnight, Peter." She said. Although she really did not know if she would sleep, for her heart had began stammering in her chest at his closeness.

"Goodnight, Wendy." He said, snaking an arm over her waist. He pulled her closer to him and she felt his leaves crinkle on her back.

Now, she fixedly tried to fall asleep, she put in great efforts. Her eyes were clamped shut, her breathing, she forced to slow (which led her to gasp quite suddenly as she really needed her breath at the moment). All in all, it was completely pretend sleep, as her thoughts were racing wildly and she dejectedly was not tired in the slightest. But Peter was convinced, and after only ten minutes of her pretend, he began to play coyly with the fabric of her night shirt. She could not see, but he was staring at her fixedly, looking for any sign that she might wake up. He did note the rapid throbbing of her neck. Growing braver, he flattened his palm on the warmth of her stomach and pressed his mouth against the back of her shoulder. His eyes closed and he began to forget himself as he pressed little kisses on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, and her stomach flipped as she recognized the reality of a boy holding her to him and kissing her shoulder quite lovingly. There would be no flying away from this, and mother was really just downstairs. She could feel Peter's breathing becoming labored, and his hand mischievously climbed up her stomach to rest on her sternum. His kisses turned dark and he hungrily kissed at the flesh of her neck where her pulse was fluttering unhinged. Now Peter had completely forgotten that they were meant to be sleeping and moved his hand to knead the flesh of her breast quite unwittingly. Wendy gasped as she felt his hips press to hers, and begin a slow grinding.

"Oh, Peter!" She gasped, pushing his hips away from hers, for she had grown quite hot there. He stopped, suddenly embarrassed. He reached down to cover himself as he had forgotten about his 'pouch full of kisses', and it was now terribly afflicted.

"Wendy…" he began. Should he apologize? Was there something to apologize for? "Do you not like my kisses?" He asked, feeling a bit rejected. She could not lie, for she wickedly did indeed like his kisses.

"Oh, no, Peter… I'm just…" She could not finish, because she could not find the words. "I really must be getting to sleep." She reasoned. Peter nodded, he remembered now that he had become quite heated lying next to her.

"You sleep, then." He said softly. Peter gestured her to bed and she crawled in quite willingly. He tucked her in, as she had tucked him and gazed lovingly down at her.

"Good night, Wendy." He said.

"Good night, Peter." She replied. He kissed her forehead softly as he knew someone had done to him years ago (although he really could not recall), but naughtily he was not satisfied and kissed her deeply on the lips. He pulled away and he laughed to himself as he found that Wendy's face quite willingly followed his in attempt to prolong the kiss. He stared at her, heavily for a bit as she stared at him with wonder, and he turned towards the window and took off for home.

I really would like some feedback, even if I am selfish for wanting it now. I want to know if people are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it. Big plot twist coming up, though. I hope you're ready to be shaken up.


	4. The Haunting

Peter flew quite confidently towards his home on the second star to the right. But as he flew, he lost himself in thoughts about Wendy and kisses and became quite lost in the whole. He looked about for his star and it started to seem to him that all of the stars looked terribly alike. He looked to Tink to help guide him, but he had just realized that she was no longer there. Getting quite scared at his sudden displacement he felt himself no longer thinking of happy thoughts. Slowly, he floated all the more down towards the ground. When he touched down, he gathered himself in all his usually happy thoughts but found that he could no longer fly, merely jump remarkably high. His heart beat in a panic as he looked, lost among the stars, and for the first time, took in the surrounding in which he had become stranded.

To Wendy's dismay, Peter no longer visited her. The rest of the summer, although growing hotter, for Wendy only grew colder as she let go of the hope that he may come back. He may have truly forgotten her this time. Pretended himself back into a little boy, she was sure. With a fierce pride about her, Wendy marched on in her life, looking, however unsure towards her future at Wisterian Halls, Finishing School for Ladies. After two years, here, Wendy would be thrust forth into society, and be given to a husband which she must vow to love.

"Finished, indeed I will be." She whispered darkly. She silently dreaded the part where she is given to a husband, for she really hated lying, and knew that she had regrettably given all of her love to the flighty Peter Pan. The next day, she faced her demise. Her mother had gone to the same school and shared joyous stories about the establishment along the way. It was a simple school, Wendy was told, there were only four hallways, joint like a square with towers at each corner. There were two floors, save for the little rooms three and four flights up into the tower; and lastly, there was a very square, very simple dormitory made of stones in the middle of the square. To soothe Wendy, her mother had planted little stories of the Gargoyles that hung from the rafters, spitting water quite intentionally on all its passing victims of Wisterian Halls. The faucets, Wendy was told, were all usually kindhearted fish cast of copper save for the second to last, which naughtily squirted towards the dresses of the girls to make it seem as if a terrible occurrence of incontinence had taken them. Her most dreadful story her mother told was about the ghosts who haunt each tower.

"It's why they moved the dormitories to the servant's quarters." Her mother teased. Although meaning well, Wendy's mind was far too young to no longer believe in ghouls and the thought absolutely shook her.

As the car (happily purchased by Mr. Darling, who drove it as if it had a will and mind) pulled up towards the four horrid towers, Wendy felt the seriousness of the situation. She would never be going back home. She would remain here, until she is finished, and sent off to become a wife. A flight of panic overtook her and she looked back at the road they had taken and began to calculate how long it would take for her to run wildly back towards her old house in these blasted shoes. The opening of the car door jarred her back. Lots of young ladies were now walking towards the school, happily, and it reassured her that maybe there were indeed no ghosts.

The rest of the day was an absolute blur. She was grouped together with strange girls, each offering an encouragingly welcome smile, while they toured the lot of the property. The gargoyles were not spitting, as it was not raining, but she could see their wicked intentions. In the dormitory bathroom, Wendy gave the second to last faucet a dark glance, as if daring it to spout at her dress. Madame Wisteria, tragic widow, and head teacher at the school, was an absolutely charming woman with a tender nature. Not only was her name lovely, her manners were as well. At the end of the tour, she guided the girls to the dining hall and paused in the corridor to point out (all too proudly, Wendy might add) a brand, new grand piano, slick and black. Madame sat staring at it longingly, as if she might forget her manners and begin to play heartily, but she shook herself from her dream and continued to guide the girls.

The dinner and evening activities were all well, and Wendy found to her great surprise that the school was an immensely warm and inviting place. Already, she had made it a home.

At night time, she did her washing up and listened intently to the gossip of the girls, all brushing out their hair and splashing their faces, one girl who mistakenly chose the second to last sink was now soaked to dregs.

"Madame is so lovely!" Cooed one. It seemed Madame's warmth was not without effect on the others.

"Oh yes, and did you know she has three lovely daughters? All grown now, save for one." Said another. "Perfectly mannered, they all are. The eldest married a viscount! Can you imagine?" The all sighed longingly. Wendy felt perfectly out of place, for she never fantasized about such things and suddenly felt she would not fit in.

"I heard…" Said a fiery red-headed girl "That she is to lose the school, as the viscount argues he is the rightful heir, now that her husband has passed."

"That's awful!" Gasped another, the dreams of the viscount now shattered for all by the news of his foul character. The girl with the soaked nightgown shrugged.

"She should have had a son, silly woman." She said. The red-headed girl scoffed.

"You cannot just wish to have a son, Margarette, it doesn't work that way!" Taken aback, Margarette flushed.

"And what do you know of having children, Lissy?"

Lissy, obviously now out of useful information on the matter shut up quite quickly. Already, Wendy did not like Margarette.

As they were all practicing to become ladies, each girl was offered a small room in the dormitory. Wendy, being alphabetically last, got the room in the corner, which was absolutely lovely because it offered not just one but two windows to gaze out of. She looked on to the view which was to be hers for the next two years and it gazed up one of the towers menacingly. Her excitement suddenly dimmed.

The girls all crawled into bed, now and the lights were turned out. Wendy felt perfectly ready for sleep, even though this bed was new to her. Without much of a glance at her new view, she fell fast asleep.

Wendy awoke, at first, slowly, to a moaning of sorts. It became so horribly dreadful that she opened her eyes. She saw the moon rising high above the ominous towers and the cries reached a horrid peak that shook her to her core. Her heart beat frantically. So, the school really was haunted. She squeezed her eyes shut and blocked her ears. She might have had better luck falling asleep with Peter. Now, Peter haunted her mind as well. The rest of the night, it is safe to say, was restless.

The next morning, it seemed that Wendy was the only one haunted by the spirit, as the rest of her class seemed gay. The girls seemed to have taken no notice, and they walked gleefully to breakfast. As she passed the grand piano in the hallway she could almost imagine the foul notes it might play in the full of the moon.

As it was really only their first day, the lessons were nothing more than introductory. Lunch came too quickly for Wendy, and still plagued by her haunting, dinner seemed to lurk menacingly closer. It was at dinner time that her fate quite changed completely.

They had been eating peacefully, when a horrid sound came from the grand piano. The girls, all giggling, peered to see what idiot was playing so wretchedly. It was a young man, Wendy could see, and he was a dreadful musician. Madame Wisteria softly cooing to him that he was doing just fine, even though he was most certainly not. His shoulders were hunched in obvious malaise as he struggled with the instrument.

"Here," She encouraged kindly. "This is the Prelude." All too happy to take the keys from him, Madame Wisteria indulged herself with playing the prelude so beautifully. To the surprise of the whole dining hall, the boy, listening intently, played the prelude back almost perfectly (although completely without proper timing). Madame Wisteria tut tutted, as mothers would, immune to the display.

"You did not _read_ the piece, silly boy, you merely used your ears. You need to actually read it!" She pointed to the sheet music roughly. In a heat of tantrum, the young man rose suddenly from the bench.

"But you know damn well I cannot read, you daft cow!" he spit. Now the whole dining hall took back a breath, and at the blanching of Madame's face, began to laugh at them. The young man suddenly dwarfed with embarrassment, gazed helplessly at the room of girls mocking him. It was his absolute nightmare. But, as if drawn magnetically, and dare we saw magically, he locked eyes with a particular girl in the room.

Half recognizing him by his voice, and fully recognizing him by his fiery green gaze, Wendy's heart stopped. She was quite sure she had died. At the locking of their eyes, Peter's eyes softened and his clumsy smile split wide, forgetting already his frustrations with the piano.

Madame's pride was dreadfully shattered and she grabbed him forcefully by the ear to the tower South. As if his ear were made of gum, he tried desperately twisting his head this way and that to get another glimpse of Wendy, to make sure he really, truly had seen her there.

Hooray! I'm doing it! I'm writing the story of my dreams! I hope you like it too!


	5. Deepening

Wendy, almost unconscious in her daydreams clumsily made her way through the rest of the evening. She did not even do her proper washing up (for which she was sure to receive a bad mark) and headed straight to bed. Her heart had not ceased its rapid tattoo, and she feared it never would. Peter had never been part of her world, her actual world, and it thrilled her quite terribly. It frightened her, too, because she was sure that their pretend kisses were now good as real, and felt horribly ashamed. She hid her face beneath the blankets. Her thoughts danced about Peter as she remembered his kisses. She melted into a fantasy and found that she had fallen asleep.

Again, she was awoken by an ominous moaning. She was scared at first, but with the recent sighting of Peter, quickly realized it was just him, having a nightmare. Her guts churned, for she longed to comfort him. She gazed out of her window towards the moaning tower.

"Peter…" She called out softly. The moaning continued.

"Peter!" She called more loudly. This time, the moaning ceased, and with great alarm, Peter poked his head from the uppermost window and searched for her voice.

"Wendy!" He called back. His heart was fluttering at the sound of her voice, and he nearly jumped for joy that she had indeed recognized him. He found her small face tucked into the window of the dormitories. Completely filled with the happiest of thoughts, he leaped quite daringly out the window, which proved foolish, considering he could no longer fly, and only float precariously down. He ran, quite unfazed by his near treacherous fall, across the courtyard to her window. Wendy did not fully expect him to come down to visit, she merely meant to soothe him, but she was happy for the fact that soon she could hold him. Climbing clumsily into her window she barely had time to help him before he held her so strongly to him, that her feet left the ground. He shook, a bit, and he naughtily wiped his nose on her nighty when he began to cry, quite unashamed.

"Wendy…" He blubbered. "I've had the most horrid time without you…" She held him too and was filled with warmth at hearing his voice again.

"I thought that you would never come back…" She cried. He looked down at her, almost angry that she could even think of such a thing.

"Never." At this he kissed her. He meant to do it softly, but it was out of his hands, now, and the kiss naughtily took her lips quite forcefully. With her knees now wobbling she sat on the bed. All too happy to hold her in bed again, Peter sat on her pillows (to her dismay) and propped his back on the headboard. Opening his arms wide in invitation to hold her. Wendy did not hesitate to place herself close to him, as she really knew that was where she belonged. His leaves were gone, and were replaced by a nightgown, quite similar to her own.

"Why were you crying, Peter?" She asked.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He asked. "They're tying to turn me into a man!" She looked at him and realized that his hair had grown darker, losing its boyish blondish glow.

"Did they capture you?" She asked, thinking of pirates. He thought for a while.

"Yes… and no." He said pensively, drawing out his words to entice her curiosity.

"Oh, Peter, what happened?" She begged.

"When I left you, Wendy, I could not find my star." He began. "And Tink, she was gone. I quite think that my star has been blown out." He said dreadfully. Wendy held a gasp.

"Your Neverland… Peter…" He began to cry again and she wiped his tears with her hand. He began to resume his moaning and howling, and quite suddenly, felt that the other girls might soon hear him. She held him like she knew how and hushed his crying.

"There, there, Peter. I'm sure it has not been blown out. Merely that you have lost your way." He all too willingly took advantage of her coddling to hold her closer still, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"They are trying to teach me how to read." He moaned. She chuckled at this.

"But Peter, do you not wish to read stories?" He paused at this. He so preferred to have his Wendy tell them to him.

"I'd rather you read them to me." He said stubbornly.

"Shall I read one now?" She asked. He smiled at the thought.

"That would be lovely." Wendy went to pick out a book that she felt he would enjoy, as she had been banned to read it, and stowed it away with her in secret. She sat back on the bed and nestled herself in the crook of his arm. His hand quite naturally came around to caress her shoulders. Consumed with joy at holding his Wendy to him, Peter planted a soft but lingering kiss on head. Wendy smiled, quite satisfied and loved, turned up the lamp and began to read.

"The Call of the Wild… by Jack London." She whispered.

It was a peaceful night at last, at Wisterian Halls, and none quite so peaceful as the little room in the Southern corner of the Dormitories. Wendy and Peter had fallen asleep, lamp still lit, and their bodies slumped against the headboard. It is without saying that Wendy's Neverland had awakened from winter, and bloomed suddenly into spring. Pan had that effect on Neverland. In the joy of seeing each other again, they played gaily as they had done before any kisses were shared between them. They also took to making Wendy's little house, a little less little by adding a cot for which Peter could sleep, and extending the walls outwards. Peter was all too happy at pretending to take off his hat to hang it in the house, and would now take joy in exclaiming he had forgotten his hat and he must return home to fetch it. When they had both gone to sleep in their new house together, they awoke in the world they now both belonged to. With nothing but a small understanding smile, Peter rose and took to making his way back to his ominous tower.

A new day had begun.

At Wendy seeing Peter again, and knowing they were near, the school seemed all the more interesting and inviting. It seemed that although really nearing autumn in England, spring had begun. Peter, who previously resistant to Madame's teaching, was intrigued by Jack London and made efforts to begin to read. Although the same cannot be said about Wendy, who could not give a fig about entering society as she now truly believed she would never marry, unless, of course, Peter wanted to. There were some very happy times in the day where they would cross paths and he would smile wickedly at her, which reduced her quite uselessly to melted butter. At night, Peter took to sneaking down to see Wendy, and to hear of Jack London. They tried not to fall asleep together, as it had become quite cumbersome to part in the morning when people were about. Instead, they came into the habit of kissing good night, and all too often these kisses began to wander dangerously. He was no longer ashamed of his 'pouch full of kisses', and instead reveled in pressing it wickedly against her. She also began to enjoy his kneading of her breast, and once had even encouraged it. Naughty children, they were, but now they were no longer really children, were they?

Once, in a happy moment of passing each other, Peter displayed his efforts in his studies by handing Wendy a small note which read in clumsy letters, "Hello, Wendy." She had taped that note to her wall to display how quite proud she was of him.

They had finished reading Jack London, and had even started to read Tarzan, when a murmur of the most horrible fiction started to circulate the school. A finishing school it was, but without naughtiness it wasn't. This new writing, perfectly suited to the fast approaching All Hallows Eve, was passed from one hand to another until it had finally been passed to Wendy. They opened the reader quite anxiously that night, ready to be transported to the most dreadful of place.

"Beyond the Wall of Sleep," Spoke Wendy, in her most fearsome tone. "By H. P. Lovecraft…"

Peter was now a (young) man inspired! The horrible wickedness of it, the inventiveness of it, sent him into a flurry of imaginative plots he began to write as his own. Since he had not quite mastered the art of actually writing it down, he began to write in a notebook lists of characters, some accompanied by their sketches (which were dreadfully good for a boy with such awful handwriting). They began to not only exchange smiles at each other in the hallways but they walked, quite unconcerned together chatting excitedly about stories they had invented.

This certainly did not go unnoticed, and Madame Wisteria bit at her nails quite unladylike at the sight of them. But the boy seemed happy, and she would not spoil his happiness, for she could not bear to hear his crying all night which so happened to stop just as Wendy attended school. It could not be helped, she had felt, for she could not send him away... you see.

They continued to prod the other students for more publications of Mr. Lovecraft, and Wendy was soon being slipped small publication magazines from underneath the dining table.

Peter ate alone with Madame Wisteria. It was not proper for the young man to eat with so many young ladies of society, especially since when they first met, he had been clad in nothing but leaves. He did take his chance to woo Wendy further by playing Minuets and Sonatas during the girl's dinner time that he had heard Madame Wisteria play. He played with such gusto that more often than not, Madame did not object to him not even looking at the sheet music, but turning instead to search for Wendy's gaze. Although he did meet Wendy's gaze he was blissfully incoherent to the batting eyelashes the other girls would flutter to him. Wendy too, was unaware of this and would have been quite vexed at the other's girls interested in her Peter.

All was well, that night, until the arrival of a viscount whose nose seemed permanently turned up. He smiled hollowly, although graciously, to Madame Wisteria, and bowed low.

"Dear Mother," He spoke indignantly. She raised her port figure from the piano bench and curtsied very curtly.

"Dean, I trust you are well?" She spoke. Dean shuffled about some papers from his bag and handed them generously to her, pen in hand.

"I have come on business about Father," Said Dean. "His will has been reviewed, and I have hired a lawyer to look it over and propose its meaning. He wholeheartedly agrees that I should be the heir to the grounds." Madame turned suddenly red, and spoke quite curtly to him.

"He is _not_ your father, Dean, and you will do well to return those papers to your silly lawyer! As I am still alive, I am in charge of my husband's property." Dead laughed coolly at this.

"But you are a woman, madame, it is in the law. You may not own property!" He guffawed, as if it were moral and right that a woman should not own land. At this Madame pushed Peter quite forcefully off of the bench. He caught himself and stood, almost eye to eye with this dreadful adult.

"Well," Said Madame. "Introduce yourself…" She said, quite rushed.

"I am Peter… Sir." He said, feeling awful at having to call this person 'sir'. "I… uh…" Peter continued uncertainly.

"He is my _son_ , Dean, and upon my death, will inherit this wonderful school, and all the assets within." She said through clenched teeth. Her face had turned blotched and red in passion. Wisteria held Peter to her, although he was quite a bit taller than her, looked very little like her at all. This retort was not something Dean was prepared to fight and he returned the papers to his bag, quite undone. Dean then made to look at all the young ladies in the next room and wiggled his brows at them in quite an unnerving way. At his leaving, dinner slowly recommenced, with a buzzing of gossip and giggling.

Wendy was unsure about this new revelation, but it did not seem a surprise to Peter. The piano did not play for the rest of the night, as Madame had escorted Peter back to his room in the south tower.


	6. No Longer Pretending

This is the chapter that will change the rating. Proceed with caution.

Peter, of course, was not really her son. Although, Madame did make him do horrid things like eat his vegetables, and make him take bathes much like a mother would. It would have been wonderful if by some twist of fate, they really were mother and son and that they had found each other again, but this was not the case.

No, Madame Wisteria had simply found Peter, walking the grounds in her time of mourning her dear dead husband. She saw him playing on his pipes a most beautiful song. At first, she was quite sure that he was an angel sent from Heaven to help her in her time of need, an heir sent from God. She was quick to change her mind when she found that the boy was quite insolent sometimes a bit violent, and absolutely not angelic. He played beautifully on his pipes, but he sang like a crow.

Madame felt too motherly in her nature to not take him in, and let us say in confidence, she found he could be of much use to her as an adoptive heir (although she had never really mentioned this to him, as he was highly opposed to being mothered, and even once asked him what he would want to be when he grew up, which threw him into quite a rage).

The truth of it, was that Peter did not really mind being mothered. He just preferred Wendy, and before seeing her again, was quite terrified he had lost her forever.

Peter was very solemn that night when he came to Wendy. He did not even want to hear the story of the dreaded water god 'Dagon', which had been passed to her under the door in the lavatory. He lay on her bed, quiet, and stared up at the sky. He was quite pensive for a while, and she felt she should not disturb him.

"Which one of those stars do you think is my Neverland?" He asked. Wendy jumped, for she had all together forgotten he was there, and had naughtily began reading the horror story without him. He offered her a playful laugh, which unfortunately faded quickly. She squinted out of her window and tried, with much effort to feel for his home, but to no avail.

"I don't know, Peter." She said sorrowfully. He was quiet again. Time passed quite calmly, and the sky offered them a glorious view of the harvest moon.

She fell asleep reading the story, as Mr. Lovecraft had such a complicated way of writing she found herself rereading parts she did not understand.

In her Neverland her imagination had stirred up quite an ominous happening with the Mermaids. She heard strange things from their lagoon, and stalked the forest, heart in throat, to catch them cavorting in their cultist dealings. Peter had stalked after her, finding fun in being behind her without her knowing. He was indeed very quiet, having marched many miles with the Natives of his Neverland, never breaking a twig with his large clumsy feet. Birds flew in the distance, Wendy gasped and turned to see them, Peter flew back behind her (to his complete surprise, he really had thought he had forgotten), and with a terrible shriek crowed loudly. She jumped nearly out of her skin, which sent him rolling with laughter. How fun it was to tease Wendy.

"I nearly… I nearly…" She gasped, as she clumsily felt about her nightgown to see if she had soaked it. This sent Peter wheezing with laughter, and it rang so loud and pure that the ominousness of the lagoon completely lifted, and flowers bloomed to hear it. His happiness meant all of the world to Wendy, and soon they were adventuring together, finding clues and ancient relics talking of great ancient deities. They had played for hours, so it seemed to Wendy, that she quite knew it was time to go back to her little house. Peter seemed resistant, but did not pass a chance to hold her close to him on their cot in the cabin.

"You sleep, Wendy. I shall stay awake forever, and live here. I will wait for you in the morning." He said, giving her a quick peck on her head. She hardly had faith in his staying awake, and was not completely taken off guard when a moaning woke her from her sleep, and she saw a tortured sleeping Pan lying next to her. She was happy he had stayed, so that she could hold him and soothe him. But, alas, he had stumbled quite naturally from her Neverland again, and just couldn't seem to stay afloat.

The next few days, Peter continued his pensive silence. He thought about Tink and how he had met her. He had no idea. He was just being a boy and she appeared! He then thought dreadfully about his real mother. He thought of the barred window, and the child sleeping in his bed, but could not quite remember if it was a real thought, or just pretend. In his confusion, he slyly asked Madame if she knew where he came from, since she seemed to know so much. Blanching quite suddenly, she misunderstood him, and pulled him to a quiet corner, where she told him about how a husband will plant seeds in his wife to grow a child. Already disgusted with the idea, he asked how the baby gets out, and without knowing how to tell him, told him they burst open like dandelion puffs. He imagined something completely horrid and made an exaggerated sound of disgust.

"That can't be true, silly woman!" He said as if tasting something awful in his mouth. "Babies come from cabbages, my real mother told me so!" He shook his head and laughed to himself in such a way as he walked away from her. "Honestly…" He mumbled disbelievingly.

He asked Wendy that night and what she said made him feel so much better.

"It is said that it is the greatest pleasure ever possible in the world." She said enticingly. "That adults keep a secret from children."

"Let us try to find it out!" He said, completely riveted. She scoffed.

"Well you have to be married to know it, Peter." She said, quite obviously.

It was not long that Peter had forgotten his sadness. Wendy and Peter had finally read 'Dagon' beneath the covers of her bed, and it was wonderfully terrible. Peter, in an attempt to read to Wendy for a change started to read to her 'The Little Prince'. He began to call her his Wendy Rose, and she called him Prince Peter in return, which made him feel so important. To not make himself a fool, he found himself practicing the story so that he knew it by heart, before he read to her. He agreed quite well with the little prince, grown ups were quite awful.

Sometimes, Peter would not go down to Wendy and would only sneak down to her once he was sure she had fallen asleep. He loved to see her face as he burst into her Neverland to surprise her. He could never quite have enough of Wendy being happy to see him. In their pretend, he tried harder and harder to capture her and make her his wife, in an attempt to discover the great secret of the adults. One particular night, he was rewarded for his effort. He caught her while playing one of their chasing games and ran his hand up her nightgown to play with her belly button whispering, "I shall plant my seed in you."

This made Wendy feel horribly flush, and her stomach quivered to his touch.

How he loved to capture his Wendy, and make her shiver. Snaking his hand around her waist he took her lips with his. Her heart, quite a flutter, could not resist his advances. She kissed him back with much fervor, all the while ashamedly trying to pull her nightgown back down. He broke the kiss and looked down at her with wickedness in his eyes.

"No, Wendy…" He said, pulling her nightgown further up still to expose her breast. He stared at her for a while, and kneaded her breasts while biting his lip. He felt a hunger building in him, but he did not know what for. Without thought, he bent to kiss her breast. She shuddered at this and he reveled in it.

"Peter…" She whispered. He leaped up.

"You don't… like these kisses?" He asked suddenly scared that she would bar him from kissing her (as he really did not know at this point if he could honor her wishes). She did not answer, but took his hand. Her eyes grew heavy and impassioned and she kissed the palm of his hand. He watched her in awe. His Wendy, giving him such kisses… he could almost not contain it. She placed his hand on her breast and looked at him with such tenderness.

"Do as you like, Peter." She said, heart palpating in her chest. She parted her mouth and offered her lips to him, which he took with eagerness. They were laying, now, in the field of flowers, the little blooms dancing in the wind. Peter suckled on her lip, and lavished in the taste of her. He did not know if it was right, but he knew he wanted it. She reached under his gown as well, and felt his back ripple as he held himself over her. The fabric gathered quite annoyingly towards his face and he peeled if off without much regard. He pressed his skin against hers and lavished at the feel of her warmth. Now it was Wendy's gown which bothered him, and he peeled it off her too without even asking. She did say to do as he liked. A feeling of wickedness took him as he realized he could really do as he liked, even if he did not know what it was. He let his weight rest on her, and he traced kisses up her jawline. He whispered to her.

"I hope you will forgive me," He began, "If I do something wicked…" Wendy loved it when he did wicked things to her, and she held his body to hers to show that she was not afraid. He had swelled quite terribly now, and the pressure grew strange on her belly. He shifted it down between her legs as it had grown quite sensitive now, and it throbbed almost painfully. This was Peter's awful discovery, you see, because there was a place between her which grew so invitingly warm, he could not help but rest himself against it, much like a bee is drawn to rest on a flower. He moaned as the strangest of feeling overtook him. He felt an urgency to press himself between her. Hungrily and dazedly he kissed her neck, sucking and tugging playfully with her skin. He lost himself in the feeling of kissing her and he ground against her. Wendy jolted and she felt him press to a very sensitive part of her. As she had become so slick, he slid tortuously over it, and she moaned with pleasure. He whimpered at the sounds she made, and reveled in the pleasure he was giving her. He tried to kiss her, but found that he had no breath, and he breathed hotly over her. She kissed his neck, offering him the same tantalizing nibbles he had offered her. His heart was now completely full to bursting, and he found the strangest catch of flesh between them. Naïve, and full of fire he pushed against it, and found himself quite suddenly inside her.

Wendy gasped and clasped her hands to his back. Never before having felt herself filled. It was beyond him, now. The feeling of her, the sounds that she made, it was the greatest pleasure he had ever found. It was quite strange, then, that in all his blurred thinking he knew. He knew this was the planting. He was planting his seed. He was making Wendy a wife… and a mother. Peter was thrilled. He did not know if she knew, for she seemed so lost in herself now, but he shall tell her later. He will keep it a surprise. Now suddenly filled with tenderness for his Wendy, he slowed his grinding, and she was all too happy for it. He caught his breath, and kissed her lovingly and long. She returned his kisses, legs shaking, and her body, too began to crave. He felt her wriggle under him, bringing him deeper, and deeper. He thought her quite scandalous, and he smiled his wonderful smile at her. His passion grew slowly and he loved to hear her breathing quicken.

"Oh, Wendy…" He whispered to her. Although most of the time, the sounds he made could not be put into words. The pleasure built, and built, until he was no longer softly grinding into her but pounding into her. His stomach churned with the strangest feeling and closed his eyes in passion.

"Wendy…" He moaned, almost pleadingly as he suddenly held her to him and released, what he felt was an absolute wave of bliss. He hit her deeply and she groaned in pleasure. His heart began to slow, and he looked down at his Wendy, completely disheveled, eyes heavily gazing at him in fascination. He kissed her, although his kissed were now salty with sweat, and lay on her chest. He listened to her heart begin to slow, too, and it lulled him. She did not speak, but rubbed his back so soothingly. He fell asleep, quite suddenly, as if all the life had been drained of him.

When he awoke in Wendy's bed, he saw that she was still asleep. He kissed her shoulder, whispering her name with such passion. He was now forever changed, he had found the secret. She awoke slowly and rolled over to see him. She gasped as she felt something wet and cold on her back, and stood up quite suddenly to investigate. A sticky substance soiled her night dress. Now, Peter looked horribly ashamed, and it did not help that she looked at him and said.

"Oh, Peter." She wiped her hand on her nightshirt, as she stripped it off. The sight of her made him smile devilishly, and he took her hand to pull her into bed. He knew that she remembered their adventure, and it hit him quite suddenly that it had been all pretend. He did not want it to be pretend anymore.

She came willingly to him, equally entranced and impassioned by what they had done. Once he had lured her into bed, he pushed her down and kissed her hungrily. He was slower this time, he was tender this time, and as a reward Wendy cried quite passionately and crumpled with pleasure before he finished inside her.

* * *

I'm not ashamed, are you ashamed? Read and review you please.


	7. Something Happy, Something Sad

Of course, it was absolute fun, the pleasure they had found. Peter was quite thrilled. He could not wait to surprise Wendy with a child. She so wanted to be a mother. He was smiling almost always, now. He would look to the sky and watch, as if their child might come down from the sky and into their waiting arms. It did not bother him, then that the fuzzy coat of hair which covered his face grew coarse. Ay, he was truly becoming a father, then. It was absolutely exhilarating, but the hairs grew slowly, and he reasoned it must take an awfully long time. And so, he would wait patiently with his Wendy. It is without say that they secretly took further part in their pleasures, and became quite good at it. Meanwhile, Madame would chase him with the kitchen knife, begging him to shave that awful scruff from his face. He laughed joyfully, because as fat and short as she was she made such efforts. He quite liked Madame, and even began to think of her as a second mother.

The grounds became cold, but Wendy's bed was always warm. And during the day, Peter loved to find her in the halls to pull her roughly from the crowds of suspicious girls as he drew her to a corner and lavished her in sweet kisses.

It was sad to say that the ghost did indeed return to Wisterian Halls. During the night, the girls of the dormitory were endlessly haunted by moans and banging of furniture. It was hard to think, though, that the ghost seemed in any kind of pain, as it took so much joy in its hauntings. One of the girls, knowing all too well that ghosts were not real, had told Madame Wisteria of the events.

Madame was is disbelief, and could hardly believe that her Peter, to whom she had grown so close (and now regarded as her own son), could do such a thing. She refused to check on him as she had put such faith in him. Her denial quaked when one night, she saw that there was one light in the Dormitories which was still up. Still clutching to her denial, she climbed the stairs in a huff to the South tower. She smiled, as she really thought she would open the door to see Peter drooling upon his pillow. Her smiled vanished as she saw that his bedroom door was open, swinging lazily from its hinges as it swayed in the winter winds of the open window. Her heart jumped and she nearly cried.

"Oh, god… no…" She ran down the steps so quickly she might as well have rolled. She marched through the courtyard, not feeling the cold air in her panic, towards the brightness of the window. As she neared it, she heard such sounds that and her heart, so happy to hang to denial, dropped it suddenly at her feet. She knew, now, that it was absolute, but she could not keep from peering closer. She saw Peter, red with pleasure pushing lovingly into dear Wendy. A tear did slip from her face.

Wendy had been ruined. She had been ruined. The great pinnacles of her institution were crumbled to the dust. Wendy's future crumpled with it. Consumed with guilt, she could not watch them anymore, and she took to her chamber, where she tapped a pen to paper not knowing how to proceed.

It was quite kind, if one thinks about it, that she did retreat that night. Madame could have burst into the dormitory and laid them bare for all to see, but she didn't. Madame was wise, and knew that this had to be handled… delicately. Madame's way of going about this profited Peter and Wendy one last night of passion, although they did not know it would be their last. In the morning, they both awoke, as they usually did, and Peter left through the window and across the courtyard, where he dressed quickly. This morning, he was so enraptured with his love for Wendy, that he dashed to the piano, and played a romantic rendering of Chopin for the school to hear. He of course, only played for Wendy, but who was to tell? Some girls were stricken, but most knew of the rumors and looked at Wendy with such accusing eyes. Peter did not notice, but Wendy did and the stares brought her to look into her oatmeal, quite ashamed. She did not seem to enjoy his song, and he stopped playing, mid-piece. Madame went to Wendy then, and pulled her from her breakfast, and Peter rose to try and join her.

"I dare day Peter, you should come too." Said Madame, unable to look into his confused face. They headed towards the West tower and Peter smiled at Wendy, because he had first kissed her in a room that was facing West, and he thought she would have loved the pretty correlation. Wendy did not even look to see him, as she knew most assuredly that she had been caught red-handed. In her courses they had well explained what was expected of young ladies. She knew what they were doing was wrong, but she didn't dare tell Peter because she enjoyed it so. They entered a small room with very little windows, and comforting chairs. Mrs. Darling rose from one of them to look at Wendy. Curiously, she saw that Wendy's kiss was gone. She looked at the boy and found that he wore it quite proudly.

Heart pounding, Wendy sat next to her mother. Peter was offered a seat, quite alone in the corner by the window. He wanted to sit next to Wendy, but saw that Mrs. Darling now clung to Wendy protectively. Brushing her thumb against her cheeks and offering her comforting smiles. He sat in the chair and found that it puffed out air quite rudely. In his usual mood, he would have laughed. But now, he was solidly terrified.

Madame first took her place, as authority did, behind a desk, but in seeing Peter's terrified face, she sat next to him and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Mrs. Darling, now truly concerned, began.

"What is the nature of this meeting?" She asked, shuffling through her suspicions, hoping to draw only the least malignant one. Madame, instead, spoke directly to Wendy and Peter.

"You have been caught." She told them. "In affairs…" She looked at Peter to see if he understood. Wendy certainly did, and she began to cry softly. Peter did not.

"Peter," She said. "Wendy is to be married. A young lady is uh… a delicate flower. You have plucked the flower, Peter."

"Oh…" He said sadly. He looked to Wendy and she looked so terribly ashamed, indeed as a flower who had been plucked. Mrs. Darling clamped her hand to her mouth to snuff the shriek she wished to shriek.

"You've ruined my Wendy…" She looked at him, eyes turning red. Wendy covered her face in shame, mumbling to her mother how sorry she was.

"No… I… I haven't ruined her… Wendy…" He stood and tried to reach for her now, but Madame held his hand back.

"You have, Peter. I am ruined." Wendy sniffled

"Wendy, I did not mean it, please forgive me…" Peter begged, crying now, too, for he could feel her growing distant.

"I'm sorry, Peter." She blubbered.

"I have concluded…" Madame began. "To send Wendy home, for at least a month. To see… well…" She said if it were all understood. Mrs. Darling nodded.

"We shall… tell her father that she is ill." Her mother looked to Wendy and asked in a whisper. "Have you bled?" Wendy replied in a very soft voice.

"Not yet…"

"I didn't hurt her, I swear!" Peter said misunderstanding the nature of the question. Mrs. Darling shot him the most dreadful glance.

"You have, boy. Wendy cannot marry, now!" She said, crying at last. Madame scoffed at this.

"I daresay she can." She offered. Peter listened carefully, for he was sure they were going to realize that Wendy was his wife now, and that she could certainly not be married. Madame rose. "I have worked in this field for a long time." She began. "This is not the first, and I dare say it will not be the last. Wendy was my responsibility, and I have failed her. What I can offer you, is to give her the greatest match possible. Considering…" Madame nodded to Wendy and to her stomach.

"Could her husband not tell, that she's had…" Mrs. Darling exclaimed.

"Ha!" Mocked Madame. "Poppycock. We all know that whole red sheets on the marriage bed idea is a load of… crumpets…." Madame said carefully, for she had nearly said something unladylike. "Anyhow, men hardly know what's going on down there anyways." She mumbled. But thought again of her late husband, and knew that it was not the case.

"Peter…" Said Madame. "Maybe it's time to go back to your room, then?" She cooed.

"No… no!" He cried. "Wendy! No, don't leave me, please!" Madame pulled his body towards the door and effectively had to push him through it. She led him through the halls and he cried with such passion you would have thought he had been stabbed. Curious, that a young man would feel so deeply for a girl, Madame thought. But she was suddenly reminded of her dear husband again, and she concluded it was not all that unusual. She felt such sympathy for him then that she felt quite terrible escorting him to his room, and with regret, locked the door.

She unlocked it at dinner time, when Wendy had packed and left. Peter, who had not even tried the door, had not realized it was locked. He did not want to leave his room. He thought the other girls were awful, and with Wendy gone the school offered no warmth save for that of Madame Wisteria. Shuffling his feet down the stairs quite sorrowfully, he made his way to the dinning room. In seeing it was occupied by all those silly girls, he thought instead of playing the piano. He did not know what to play, as he had always had an aversion to melancholy music. Now, he begged to play one. No matter, he would play his own. Peter began to play, to his audience's chagrin, something as terrible and broken as he felt.

"Ugh, the notes are too close together…" One girl criticized.

"Why must he play those awful chords together, they're completely unsuited…" Another moaned. No one was brought to tears by his cacophony save for Peter. Poor, broken-hearted Peter, and Madame, who now saw (and heard) how deeply he had truly felt for Wendy. She thought… She wished… that she could reunite them, but she had promised Mrs. Darling a good match for Wendy and seeing as it had been her mistake to not keep close watch of him, felt honor bound to that promise. The only way that Peter could ever be rejoiced with Wendy, sadly, was that is Wendy really was with child. But then, it would be to her family's discretion if they ever let him near her again. In feeling so deeply for Peter, Madame Wisteria had decided.

The next day, Peter did not appear until the afternoon, dragging his slippered feet down the hallways drearily. This was all fine and good, since Madame had a lot of legalities to sort through, and she hated legalities. Peter had been chewing the same bit of toast for almost five minutes when Madame snapped him out of his melancholy daze. He turned to her, eyes red and swollen, and jam smeared all over his left cheek. Pathetic, she thought.

"Peter… I was hoping we could talk." She motioned to the hallway. Sensing a chance to clear his name, wiped his cheek of jam onto his sleeve and stood quite tiredly.

They walked back into the small room to the West and his awful heart gave a jolt of hope that maybe, Wendy would be there. He could see her now, smiling and gay, shouting gleefully that it was all a misunderstanding. But as he turned the corner he could see no one but an old man at the desk wearing small glasses and a big scowl. Madame offered him a seat across the desk, and Madame sat next to him. The old man looked at Peter over his glasses and then to Madame.

"This is the youth in question?" He asked.

"Yes." She said. Peter did not care what was happening. Upon discovering that Wendy was not here he had fallen back into his glassy eyed daze. They spoke for a while, quite adult like until they addressed him.

"Peter do you know your natural mother?" The man asked. He looked at Madame and pointed questioningly, for he had no clue what a natural mother was. A bit amused, the man's scowl twitched.

"Answer is no, then?" He asked. Peter nodded. The man went on to scribble something.

"Your last name, then?" He asked. Peter shrugged. "They call you just Peter, then?"

"Peter Pan." He said. The man smiled, and Madame looked at him curiously as she did not know he called himself this.

"Interesting name… Pan," Said the man. "God of Springtime?" Now the scowl broke and a chuckle burst from the man. Peter could almost see the boy who used to be the man.

"This woman wishes to adopt you, she has recounted to me the circumstance of your meeting and we agree that this would suit you well for your future, Mr. Pan." He explained. "Do you concede to being adopted by Madame Wisteria." He did not really know what adopted meant, but he could guess.

"She is to be my real mother, then?" Peter asked.

"Yes," She said. "You will gain sisters, and an inheritance. The whole of Wisterian Halls will belong to you one day."

"And of course, I will gain you." He said, offering her a smile, for he really did like her. Her heart melted to him.

"Yes, and I will gain you." She replied, quite touched.

"Birthday?" Asked the man. Peter shrugged again.

"I don't quite remember being born, you see." Another chuckle from the man.

"Ah, Peter you really are something…" He said sliding his glasses back up his nose. "Do you know… approximately, how old you are?"

"How… how old do I look?" Peter said, dreading the answer. The man blew a raspberry and gazed upwards in thought, then knitted his brows at Peter.

"I would say… sixteen, at the most?" Guessed the man. Peter was completely floored. He was sure there was a time when 10 seemed an awfully large number.

"Sixteen?!" He gasped, collapsing in his chair. The man laughed at him.

"Well that awful scraggle on your chin might add a few years. If you shave it off, maybe you can gain them back!" He laughed, now wholly charmed by Peter.

There was a long silence as a large pile of papers was shuffled from one side of the desk to the other, and Madame Wisteria scribbled on each.

"Last bit." Said the man. "Will you take the name Wisteria? You may choose to keep your old one. Peter Wisteria…?" Peter scowled and shook his head.

"Peter Pan." He said, and then remembered his manners. "Please."

"Peter…" Said Madame. "It might prove difficult to have you inherit the grounds, if you do not take the name…" He looked at her blankly and she knew that it was of no consequence whether he inherited the grounds or not. More legalities, she thought, remorsefully.

"Do you not think," Asked Peter, "Wendy Wisteria to be a silly name? I much prefer Wendy Pan, myself." He said, grinning as he thought of his Wendy. Madame hid her face and sighed.

"Peter…"

The old man chuckled.

"You wish to marry, Peter?" He asked, plucked.

"You see, I though I already was." He said. "But I shan't give up." He said in feigned bravery, for he really did feel crushed and beaten. He could even pretend that he had a chance. It lifted his spirit some.

"How about Wisteria for a middle name?" Asked the man. "Peter Wisteria Pan, Wendy will not inherit that."

Peter laughed and recalled how dreadfully long Wendy's name already was, Wendy Moira Angela Darling. That's what came of having a mother, he thought.

"I've never had a middle name, I'd like to have one." He said. The man scribbled something conclusively and began stamping the documents with a large mallet. Peter would have liked to give it a try, for it did look like fun.

"Done, and done." He said, shuffling the papers together. "Congratulations on your new son, Madame." He said, extending his hand towards her. She shook it gallantly and her eyes overflowed with tears.

"Peter…" He said, extending his hand to him. He shook it, and felt quite adult in doing so.

That night he begged Madame to shave his face for him.


	8. Waiting

Every morning, for the next week, Peter would come down and torture the girls with his compositions. Now Madame's son, Peter no longer received looks from the girls, smitten or otherwise. As who can imagine anything so dreadful than marrying a teachers' son? They all thought Dean would inherit all the money anyways. No looks did he receive, but groans, and harsh criticisms. Thursday morning, he played the same seven notes over and over again, shaking his head frustratingly at them. The students were driven near to madness, and one even threw a crumbled paper to him moaning 'boo'. At that he slammed his hands on the keys, and screamed.

"I've forgotten the damn song I've made up, alright?!"

The whole hall grew quiet with reserved snickering. Madame made her way to him, as if mindlessly strolling by. She watched him huff and puff and whispered teasingly in his ear.

"That's what comes." She said. "Of not writing it down." He looked at her, vexed at first, then, inspired.

"Maybe if you learned how to read the music, then…" She made a gesture as if writing. Peter nodded, forgetting his anger. He had never understood the purpose of reading a piece of music if you could just hear it, and play it just as well. But now he understood. He shuffled to find the simplest song. Prelude by Bach. He of course, used a cheat sheet, which had all the notes written down, and played painfully slow. The dining hall was now less annoyed, but still not glad to hear his novice poking of the keys.

"She should have placed that thing in the cellar where no one could hear it." Whispered Margarette.

Madame Wisteria made sure to keep Wendy's room ready for her return, in hopes that she really would. In sweeping the floor, she found a curious piece of paper. It was a little note, no bigger than a finger which read in the crudest of handwriting, 'Hello, Wendy'. Her heart broke for Peter, for it was quite obviously his awful script. He really had loved her from the moment he had set eyes on her. How did he decide, she wondered, from all the other girls? Feeling quite naughty indeed, she sent the note to Wendy, under her address.

Distracted by his strange accumulations of hobbies, Peter did not seem to drag his feet as much, and began to find joy in creating music, drawing, and other such things. Another week flew by and one evening he heard Madame shuffling quickly up the stairs to his room. She opened the door, quite winded.

"Blast those stairs…" She moaned. "I really should have placed you in the cellar." In becoming his mother, Madame had quite dropped her manners with him as it was all too easy in his wild company. He greeted her with his usual smile. Wendy's kiss still proudly tucked in the corner. She gathered herself and breathed.

"You've got a letter." She said to Peter. Peter looked at her quizzically. She handed him the letter and he looked at it, fascinated. He turned it over and saw that it was addressed simply to 'Peter Pan'.

"I've never received a letter!" He exclaimed, and he tore it open quite recklessly. He was puzzled at first for the letter seemed empty, but there, taped in the right-hand corner… a note no larger than his finger which read in the most vibrant of script, 'Hello, Peter'. He knew that Wendy had kissed it, for he knew that it had always been in the right-hand corner right when he met her. He kissed it, overjoyed, and held it to him. A sudden wave of sadness hit him as he remembered their situation. He sighed loudly and said.

"I do enjoy receiving letters…" He said, tinged with sadness. He had feared that Wendy might forget him, or not love him anymore, but he was so touched to know that she did still.

"Wendy still loves me." He said, his mouth splitting widely into a smile. She tut tutted at his reaction.

"You're such an emotional young man…"

Now we shall reveal the naughtiness of Madame Wisteria, for there was no stamp on the envelope, and certainly the post man would not know what to do with a letter simply address to 'Peter Pan'. She had told a lie, you see. There are many reasons a person lies, and as a child it is usually to get out of trouble. Adults lie for all together strange reasons, and sometimes will tell you it is for your own good.

"Peter, I need to talk to you." She said, Peter still clutching his letter. "When, and if Wendy comes back…"

"If?" He mouthed.

"… You need to be behaved. You may not visit her however you like. You must court her like you should."

"I shall take her around the garden…" He mumbled. She nodded and smiled.

"Yes, and you must think of her parents, Peter. You must show her parents that you can take care of her, if you wish you marry her." She said. Peter was overcome.

"You said you would choose the best possible match for her." He said.

"Yes, I did." She said smiling. "I believe that it is you." He held her in his arms quite suddenly now.

"Thank you… for choosing me." He said muffled in her breast. She looked at him and suddenly felt that she should not have given him such hope.

She pulled out of his embrace and looked at him darkly.

"You must promise, Peter. There is no going back after marrying. You cannot leave her for the rest of your life." He laughed at this for he really only ever wanted Wendy.

"Peter, I am serious. You should be bound to her until your death, or hers. Are you sure this is what you want?" Her seriousness did not faze him, in fact, he was quite plucked at the idea of experiencing the adventure of death with his Wendy.

"Of course it is, you daft cow." He responded.

"Good." She said, embracing him. "Then I shall do everything in my power to make it so."

The lie, you see, is that Wendy had already been back, all afternoon even. She had handed the note directly to Madame Wisteria, and Madame was determined to give Peter a chance. She did not, however, trust him to stay to his bed if he knew Wendy was afoot.

Speaking of feet, it is safe to say that the bath time for that night was absolutely the most awful, as Madame Wisteria had yanked his foot from the tub to tuck it painfully underneath her shoulder and scrub ferociously. What she did not know was that his feet were permanently dirty from the excessive frolicking he had done in his Neverland, and would always be there as evidence of his wild nature. He did not cry, but twisted his face in such a contorted wince. It even humored him to let her try, because it surely meant that she was wanted to help, and he was all too happy for it.


	9. The Test

The next morning, Peter did not shuffle morosely down to the piano, but in fact hobbled, on account that his feet were so sore. He had thought about how to court Wendy all night, and had even walked around the garden in careful slow paces to make sure that he was doing it well (and his feet really were sore). The whole dining hall was emptied, on account that the holidays were upon them, and all the girls had been sent home. He sat at the piano, as was now his habit, and stared at the sheet music. He begged to play without looking, but he really must practice his good character.

"It is not good form…" He mumbled to himself. But then again, was it not bad form to think about good form? He rolled his eyes. What a terrible contradiction. Always one to arrange his thoughts to his benefit he concluded that the should play the most beautifully, by ear, but it shall be Bach, because he was an awfully stuffy fellow and must have had the best form of them all.

It had really been a good choice, for Mr. Darling, being a bit stuffy himself, was part of his audience this morning. He had come with Mrs. Darling to judge Peter for himself. Now a Wisterian, a marriage to Peter might actually come to some benefit for Wendy. Although, Mr. Darling had calculated carefully that the expense of sending her away to the school did not quite make up for her poor marriage, but he reasoned, after all, that they had simply given the money to his possible future in-laws, and could be counted towards their earnings (which quite regrettably, was nothing). This had happily balanced the whole checkbook (as they really were only juggling just one figure) and Mr. Darling was so pleased by this, he had agreed to give Peter a chance.

It was good that Mr. Darling was charmed by the song and had closed his eyes to listen, so that he did not see the faces that Peter pulled at the rigidness of the notes. At the conclusion of his song, having done his due diligence of stuffiness, Peter played as he liked. Mr. Darling started a list in his notebook of good and bad marks for and against Peter. He happily marked one for 'good'. Mr. Darling and Mrs. Darling then approached Peter and stood behind him to greet him.

"You play very beautifully." Mr. Darling said, in his most stoutly voice. Peter turned to see them, and at recognizing Mrs. Darling played a foul note. Peter stood, having practiced his bowing the night before, and bowed graciously to Mr. and Mrs. Darling. They returned the gesture, quite pleased, and Mrs. Darling could hardly think that this was the sniffling boy who had been pulled away from Wendy just a few weeks ago. Peter saw Mr. Darling happily mark another for 'good', and said in a hushed tone.

"You are very lucky, Peter. I am happy to report that Wendy is not with child." Mr. Darling said, as if Peter would be pleased.

Peter was not really pleased. Dash it all.

"Ah, and I put in such effort…" He mumbled. Mr. Darling, quite shocked, dug in his paper a big, fat stroke for 'bad'.

Madame Wisteria, seeing a potential disaster, rushed to meet them, carrying in tow a very lovely young lady. It was Wendy of course, but Peter had never seen her look more like a lady. She wore stays in her dress, which gave her an elongated, stiffened look, as if she were sitting on a pole. Her hair was tied tightly in a chignon and Peter was shocked to think that it was not becoming on her at all. She looked at him, and seemed she could not contain her smile. It was to his great pleasure he saw she wore the kiss he had given her in the crinkle of her eye. Peter smiled widely, displaying the one she had given him. Mr. Darling, seeing the sweetness of the display, considered giving him another good mark. But on account of his jealousy that Mrs. Darling had never given him her kiss, felt he had not been respected as a father should, and dashed the thought.

"Should we take a turn around the garden?" Wendy asked eagerly.

"Wendy!" Mrs. Darling cried. "The gentleman always asks." She whispered to her.

"Should… we take a turn around the garden?" Peter said, unsure. Wendy bounced in her stays.

"Oh yes!" She said excitedly. Madame Wisteria, cross at Mr. Darling for putting any bad marks against her son, had started her own list and keenly kept it in view of Mr. Darling as she scribbled down a 'bad' note for Wendy. Reminding him that it was not only Peter getting married to Wendy, but Wendy to Peter.

They were escorted to the garden where Peter made sure to bow at every opportunity to show his eagerness. In entering the garden, Wendy tucked her hand at his elbow and at feeling the recognition of her touch, Peter squeezed it firmly to him. Peter began walking, as he had practiced, in slow calculating paces, not at all put together gracefully. Wendy was jolted, painfully slowly, down the path. Mrs. Darling could not retain her chuckle, and Peter, embarrassed, quickened his pace. Once out of sight, Wendy squeezed his arm excitedly and leaned to kiss him quite repeatedly on the cheek.

"You've shaved." She said in a giggle.

"I've been shaved." He said laughing, reveling in her kisses. "Madame Wisteria sheared me like a sheep." She kissed him deeply on the lips now, and although he really was trying to be courteous, could not resist. Naughty Wendy, he thought. They walked normally now, and Wendy could not quite keep her eyes off of him. Safe to say all her joyous bouncing did release her hair some, and strands began to pop out of their constraints. Peter thought this looked much better on her. Speaking of things bouncing out of constraints, he noticed her breasts had been squeezed quite tightly to display their volume and he had to try very hard not to look at them.

"Peter, you've grown up." She said, a bit sadly. "Does it not… are you cross?" He furrowed his brow. He had not been wholly bothered, for he felt he really had quite an adventure doing so. He had grown up for Wendy, after all. He could have stayed a boy, and watched her grow old, and marry… The thought suddenly repulsed him. He shall marry Wendy. No one else should have her, he was sure of it. He felt now that it all had happened as it should, and he felt deeply resolved.

"I'm not cross, Wendy." He said with a comforting squeeze. "I grew up for you. I left Neverland to come find you." He said smiling. "I have told you I love you, haven't I?" He said suddenly not sure.

"Yes, you have." She said, smiling. He nodded.

Even though it was sure that he was positively grown up, he did not feel so at all. He looked onto Wendy and her silliness and felt they were the strangest pair of grown ups he had ever seen.

In her giddiness, Wendy felt this walk to be awfully long and quickened her pace. Peter kept pace with her as if to challenge a race. Which concluded, quite regrettably, in them running through the garden until they popped out of the other end quite winded. Laughing and short for breath, she pointed an accusing finger at him.

"You cut through the roses!" She huffed. He shrugged, for they had all been dead in the winter and were too easy to jump over to not cut through.

They quickly remembered themselves and he took her hand, kissing it lightly as he placed it back in the crook of his elbow. Wendy tried to flatten her hair. They appeared to Mr. and Mrs. Darling as if they had taken a nice quiet stroll, save for Wendy being whacked in the face by a branch. Pleased as punch, Mr. Darling marked another for 'good'.

They were taken inside where they had the whole dining hall to eat a private dinner. A small table was set with the finest dishes for them to sit at. They sat, Wendy placed across from Peter, Mr. Darling sat across from Madame, and Mrs. Darling at her husband's side. They were presented with a first course, to Peter's horror, which was soup. He was an awful slurper, and Madame had slapped so many spoons out of his hands he could hardly recall. He followed all mannerism of Mr. Darling. Picking up his cup only when Mr. Darling did, and laying his napkin just so as Mr. Darling did. His copying did not go unnoticed, and feeling so important and respected Mr. Darling marked happily another 'good'. Mr. Darling's joy was short lived, though, as when they started their meal, he had to mark Peter three times for 'bad'. One for slurping (he really couldn't help it), one for spilling a spot on his trousers, and one for wiping his mouth quite unconsciously with his sleeve.

"Peter, you play the piano beautifully." Said Mrs. Darling. "Do you wish to be a musician?" She asked. Mr. Darling choked at the horror of the idea.

"I haven't even written a whole song." Said Peter.

"Peter is very good at telling stories." Offered Madam Wisteria.

"So, you shall be a writer?" Mr. Darling questioned, not comforted by the idea of writers either.

"I should be a father." He said, remembering that he had indeed not had a child. "Someday…"

Mrs. Darling was touched. "You like children, Peter?" She asked. He thought of his days in Neverland and the Lost Boys and grinned slyly.

"Ay!" He said.

"Perhaps…" Mrs. Darling asked, "You should be a teacher?" Mr. Darling rolled his eyes at this. No one could think anything more horrid than marrying your daughter to a teacher. Peter shrugged, and received another bad mark.

"Peter is my son, he will inherit this school. He would be headmaster at my place." Madame encouraged. In shrugging, marked another 'good'.

"What kind of music do you like?" Mrs. Darling asked.

"You played Bach quite well this morning." Said Mr. Darling.

"Bach is all well," Said Peter "But I do prefer Chopin."

Mrs. Darling wiped her mouth delicately at this and smiled widely.

"Oh, I do love Chopin!" She said, her kiss glowing ever so beautifully in the corner of her mouth. Mr. Darling grew so jealous at this that he marked Peter with another 'bad' note. Peter didn't care. He suddenly liked Mrs. Darling very much. Wendy was not prompted any questions, and it seemed that her opinions were not needed in the conversation. Peter watched her listen politely while quietly eating. He thought this quite unfair, for he was being bombarded with questions and could not concentrate enough on not getting crumbs all over himself.

When the table drew quiet, Peter could see Mr. Darling looking over his notebook with a furrowed brow, his pen pensively hovering between his judgments of Peter. He counted to himself at first, but soon, in his concentration, could be heard mumbling softly.

"This mark… more like a 1.5… plus this which could be better valued at… 2.3… No, no… Then that would make… 4.6 contra 5.2 in his favor…" He then stared at that big fat mark he had made at the beginning and pondered its value. Mr. Darling, overwhelmed with the figures lifted his gaze from his book to Peter, who was now staring wide eyed at him. In looking at Peter, Mr. Darling was faced with judging Peter with his gut rather than his head. Peter forgot to breath in his gaze.

Wendy tapped against Peter's foot from under the table, and Peter turned to look at her. She immediately turned her face away as if she had no idea what he was so bothered about. He smiled slyly at her and she smirked, spying his smile from the corner of her eye where his kiss was proudly shining against the glitter of her blue gaze. Mr. Darling, in witnessing this heaved a great sigh.

"I think…" He spoke. "That we have done enough for the night." He pushed back from the table to stand, and everyone stood with him, as was proper form, except for Peter. Realizing his mistake, he stood suddenly, nearly knocking his chair backwards.

"Come, Wendy. Mary." He said, suddenly seeming exhausted. "Let us retire." He bowed to Madame, then slowly to Peter, who he still gazed at contemplatively.

"But George," Said Mrs. Darling. "Should we not take the opportunity to dance?" She said, gesturing to the piano. Mr. Darling sighed at the idea, as he felt he really did not need any more displays of Peter attempting to appear a proper gentleman. He had made his decision, but so liked to please his wife that he agreed.

"All right, then." He said, extending his arm towards Mrs. Darling. Madame, secretly glad for the opportunity to play a piece for an audience, happily came to sit at the piano. Wendy walked around to Peter and offered her hand to him. Peter took her hand in his elbow and whispered nervously to her.

"I don't think I know how to dance like they do." He said, already feeling he had disappointed Mr. Darling enough. She smiled.

"Don't pay them any mind, Peter. If this is the last dance we dance, let us take full advantage." Peter looked to her and his eyes saddened. He felt that Mr. Darling was not at all impressed by him. Peter wished that Mr. Darling had challenged him instead to a sword fight. Surely, he would have impressed him then.

"And anyways," She whispered. "If they won't let us be together, we shall run away, and never look back." Peter smiled at her. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth, and it made him happy that she would put up such sacrifice as to leave her family to be with him. The feeling pulled him in twain, for he was glad for her willingness, but saddened by its necessity.

Madame began a most beautiful waltz. With practiced gracefulness, Mr. Darling pulled his wife to him and began to lead her into the dance. Mrs. Darling closed her eyes, and relished in the feeling of the music. While Mr. Darling stared at her, and her beautiful mouth he had not conquered wholly.

Peter led Wendy to the open floor and gazed at Mr. Darling's dancing. He surely could not follow those steps on a whim. He swayed Wendy in his arms nervously. She smiled encouragingly at him, and rested her head on his shoulder, which was wholly unmannered. Peter, holding her closer, began to forget about the others in the room, and his swaying became more heartfelt. What a bittersweet waltz it was, that it was almost impossible not to forget others about you. He thought of when they danced in the fields of flowers, and he could almost imagine, almost pretend that they were still amongst them. Last time they had danced, his feelings were still unspoken, his heart was so young. His Wendy was not wholly his. Now, feeling her in his arms he knew with every drop of blood in his veins that they belonged to each other and always would. He no longer cared if he could be called husband, and no longer cared if he could call her wife. She was his and he was hers, and no protests in the world could change that. With resolution in his heart and Wendy in his arms, he felt lifted and at ease. He felt happy. His pulled her around the room in tender turns. She held to him closely and gazed up to look at him. Ah, yes, it was all so natural now.

If Mr. Darling would have been less occupied with the staring of his wife, he would have seen that there was a peculiar bobbing to the couple beside him. Such as if they were pushing off the floor gently to float before touching back down. The bobbing became so pronounced that they hardly seemed to touch the ground, but hover delicately in the air. Mrs. Darling had opened her eyes and witnessed them. She did not feel surprised as she was overcome with a feeling that she had experienced this before, once, a long time ago. But she could not quite remember.

The waltz ended, and Peter's cheek was now leaning against Wendy's. He relished in the feeling of her skin against his, and kissed her cheek tenderly. How could a feeling like this possibly exist? He thought. He felt all too glad to experience it. Of course, this display Mr. Darling did see and he heaved another long sigh.

"Well…" He began. "I bid you all good evening." Mr. Darling seemed more perturbed than before as he bowed before Peter and Madame again, to lead his family back to their guest accommodations.

Peter and Madame stared at each other, not knowing what to say.

"Well," She began, "We did our best." She patted Peter on the back reassuringly, and turned to make her way to her own chamber.


	10. Passing By

I've had no feedback if this story is any good, but I'm enjoying writing it so I will keep going, but if you could just let me know what you think it would really help, since I do plan on revising after I am finished. Thank you.

That night, Peter packed. He knew almost completely that Mr. Darling had not chosen him. He gathered some clothes, wrote out a note to Madame concerning his departure, and stuffed a bag to the gills with cookies from a cookie box. Using his ever so silent feet, he snuck to the kitchens and hoarded some bread, jam, and half a pot roast wrapped in wax paper. He thought about waking Wendy to make his escape now, but he couldn't bear to tear her away from her parents in the night… again. She would come to him, she would give him the sign. A crow, or a call from a bird perhaps.

With a jolt, he heard the singing of a teapot. Soft footsteps came into the kitchen to fetch the pot. Peter hid behind the counter. It was Madame. She fetched the pot and hummed joyfully under her breath as she made her way back to the dining hall. The scowled man was sat at a table, peering over paperwork. Madame made her way to him and whispered if he would like any sugar with his tea. At that, the scowled man (who was no longer scowled) pulled her plush body towards his to rest on his lap and kissed her vivaciously. She giggled and scolded that she should spill hot water on him and made her way to her own chair, hips swaying flirtingly. They sat, across a table, with a lamp illuminating paperwork. Their hushed whispers and flirting peppered the night with a romantic air. Peter shook his head, and crept back to his room, pot roast under his arm.

When he reentered his room, he laid down with his pack ready to leave. He peered out his window, searching for an artificial flicker of light, listening for a whistle, waiting for a sign. His eyes became heavy as he watched. He waited so long, that he fell into a dream. In his dream, Wendy had come to his room, and taken him away much like he had taken her four short years ago. He felt enraptured in her presence, ensnarled by the magic of her. They flew together, and played among the trees in the forest. Twisting dangerously between the branches, and trying to catch each other.

When he awoke, he was still in his room. Wendy had not come for him, and he felt a sort of panic. Had she changed her mind? Could she not leave her family? He could hardly blame her, but… he had left everything for her. Could she not make the same sacrifice he had? He rose slowly, pondering the possible conundrum. He made to leave and swung his door open, only to see a tie attached to the door handle. A note reading 'You should wear this' was pinned to it.

Now, Peter had never worn a real tie. He had worn pretend ones, but never even thought about how to tie it on. He made his way to the mirror and looked at himself, tie in hand. For the first time, he could see the adult that he was becoming. Avoiding his own eyes, he wrapped the thing around his neck and tied it clumsily into a knot. He groaned, it was not right. He tried again. Horrible. He resounded to tie the only knot he really knew well, which was a bowline knot. Looking silly and unrefined, he shrugged. Close enough.

Madame knocked at his door, and peered in.

"Peter?" She asked. He turned to her, ashamed tie in hand. Madame shook her head and moved to help him. Her eyes were cast down, and she deftly fixed his knot. "It has been agreed." She started. "That you may marry your Wendy."

Peter frowned at the statement. The thought seemed so alien that he had a hard time adjusting to it. Peter had awoken with such worry and anxiety that he could not wholly feel glad. He was merely surprised.

"Oh…" He said, staring down at the little bowtie Madame had tied for him. She held him firmly by the shoulders and stared worriedly into his downcast eyes.

"Are you not glad?" She said. He did not register the question fully. He was still trying to process the reality that he had passed the test. Mr. Darling had given Peter his daughter. He sighed deeply as he remembered those sweet nights with Wendy, reading stories together. It seemed like such a long time ago. How strange that now it may all be set right again?

"When?" He asked in return.

"Today." She said. Now it really dawned on him. His silly bowtie was here for a reason. He fingered it playfully and smiled at Madame.

"We are to be wed today?" He said, excitement now replacing his nervousness.

"Yes." Said Madame, relieved in seeing Peter react positively to the news. He was so volatile in nature that she feared he may be volatile in love as well.

"How do we get married?" He said. He had tried the secret already, and that had obviously not worked, and now he really wondered.

"I've taken care of the legalities." Sighed Madame. "You're welcome." She made a face as if it had been such a torment. Peter knew she had not been tormented at all to do it, and grinned slyly at her. At seeing his grin, she reddened. "Just… do as you're told, Peter. It will all be very simple." She said. Peter's face broke into a smile.

"I will do my best." He said. Finally, did he feel the impact of her words, and he was consumed with happiness. He made his way to her and held her tightly.

"Thank you." Peter said. "I couldn't have done any of this without you." He wanted to say more, in fact he had much to say to her. He had even taken the time to write it down for her in his goodbye note. He tried to remember it now but he couldn't. She patted him strongly on the back and tried not to be too moved by his words.

"Ah!" He said, remembering something suddenly. Peter made to fetch something from under his bed, and Madame thinking he had a gift, beamed with anticipation. She was sorely disappointed, then, when she was presented with half a pot roast, and a loaf of bread.

"I got hungry last night…" He lied. She looked at the pot roast, then at Peter.

"Strange boy…" She muttered, and made her way to return them to the kitchen. As she put away the roast, she saw that she had the perfect view of the table she had occupied that night from the kitchen. Peter was giving her a hint.

"Sly, strange, boy." She muttered again.

Peter took much more care in dressing the rest of himself. He did not really know how, but felt that if he did it very slowly, it would make it all the better. He noted carefully the tactile nature of sliding one's arm into a sleeve, and noted the clever popping the buttons made as they pierced through the cloth. He shall take care to remember everything very well today. He recounted in his head Madame telling him that he should marry his Wendy and told himself to pack that thought away forever. He smiled at replaying it two or three times, just to make sure.

Once dressed, he made his way downstairs. His only goal was to see Wendy. He walked the entire square of the building and had not seen her. He walked it again and still did not see her. All this time, tables and chairs disappeared from the dining hall and appeared into the courtyard. There was a heavy amount of noise coming from the kitchens, as if a crazed man had gotten in and resorted to bang every single metal object together. The scowled man was sitting at a remaining table in the room, and sipped coffee while shuffling through papers, which seemed his natural state.

"Good day, Peter." He said as Peter had passed him once. Peter greeted him quickly and made to tour the building again.

"Good day, Peter." He said as Peter passed him for a second time.

After his third tour, Peter felt Wendy was playing games with him, and began to look deftly behind corners, plants, and doors. This resulted in such a fright from several of the building's occupants as Peter popped out quite suddenly to scream 'Aha!' and then to frown and walk away without explanation. By noon, no one walked passed a corner without looking around it first, nerves affray that some wild, bowtied youth would come jumping out at them.

Seeing he was causing trouble, the scowled man invited Peter to sit down with him after having to bid him good day for the fifth time.

"You won't see Wendy until everyone is ready for the wedding." Said the scowled man.

"Why?" Asked Peter.

"Because… It's bad luck." He responded. Peter rolled his eyes. What a stupid reason to be not allowed to see his Wendy. "Relax, Peter." Said the man, offering him a cup of tea from his tray. "It will all happen in due time." Peter's leg shook impatiently under the table, but began to make efforts for passing time.

"What is your name?" Peter asked, starting a bout of small talk. The scowled man, surprised that he did not know answered happily.

"James Cuthfeld." He said. "The third."

"Third?" Asked Peter, ignorant of the meaning of third persons.

"My grandfather named my father after himself, and then in turn my father named me after himself." Said James, and shook his head, as if bothered. "Such a vain practice. If I were to have children, I should give them names they can make their own, don't you think?" Peter nodded, and wondered who had named him. Then he wondered, what would he name his children? If he was going to be a father, this would be his responsibility.

"When I have children. I should name them after the stars." Peter said, passionately. James smiled, as always fascinated by Peter.

"Little Orion and Pleiades. Charming." James said chuckling. "What would Wendy think?" Peter paused to think, and the pair resorted to sipping slowly their respected drinks in silent contemplation, James returning to his paperwork.

Peter had lost himself in a powerful daydream as he recalled and recounted every single memory of being with Wendy and packing it away carefully in his mind. He recounted their discovery of the secret and shuffled uncomfortably as he felt James could now suddenly read his mind and know what he was thinking of. James took no notice and began writing happily on his papers.

"What are you writing?" Peter asked, suddenly intrigued. James smiled.

"I'm writing a story." He responded. His papers were sorted into two piles, and he placed his hand over one. "Work." He said, then moving his hand to the other. "And pleasure." Peter, excited at the opportunity to be told a story, pried.

"What kind of story is it?" He asked. James leaned in and smirked.

"It's a love story, Peter." He said. Peter was quite taken aback. James was also a grown-up who had taken him by surprise. If not in getting to know him, Peter would have thought James was an awful, stuffy person, but now found that he was intriguing and genuine. The whole world, it seemed, had been turned on its head. All that Peter thought he knew about grown-ups and life had been skewed. He recalled now how Wendy had once called him deficient, and in this moment now he understood. He had been ignorant, and stubborn. He shook his head as he remembered the painful memory of Wendy leaving Neverland and imagined a small rubbish bin the corner of his mind where he pretended to throw out the thought resoundingly. The act reminded him of Mrs. Darling sorting through the thoughts of her children, and he realized quite suddenly that what he was doing was a very grown up thing indeed.

James looked at his watch and jumped in surprised.

"Oh, my, it's nearly time!" He said. "Come, Peter, let's begin."


	11. Cold Warmth

James handed Peter a coat, and donned a coat of his own. Peter followed suit and put on the jacket as well. They walked to the doors leading to the outside and stopped. James made to see if everything was ready for the ceremony.

"It looks like snow!" James said as he peered out the window. "Better be quick about it, or we will freeze our toes off." He said ducking out into the overcast courtyard. Peter followed and was hit with a cold breeze. He gathered the hem of the coat sleeves in his hands to keep them warm. The tables had been set in a long row, with objects clumsily wrapped in bows for the couple. An arch had been plucked from the garden to stand in the courtyard as decoration. Dried flowers still clung to it, and bed sheets had been draped over it to make it seem regal. It was obvious that the preparations were a bit lackluster, but it reminded Peter strongly of building a fort out of blankets. He felt it seemed perfect for them, in a way. Since there was no time for invitations, only Madame, Mr. and Mrs. Darling, John, and Michael were in attendance. They had reached out to the boys who had come back with Wendy from Neverland, but could not be reached in time as they had rejoined the families they had abandoned, and were now scattered throughout England. It couldn't be helped, as shortly after their joining of the Darling family, Slightly had passed his real mother on the street and she was so rejoiced in seeing him again the Darlings could not keep him. The others then set on finding their own families and one by one were gone.

Sitting in his little chair, Mr. Darling rubbed his hands together for warmth, and muttered about how insane it was to have an outdoor wedding in the middle of the winter. Mrs. Darling, dressed regally in her furs seemed toasty and comfortable, the only tell-tale of cold being from her reddened nose and cheeks. John, now nearly grown as much as Peter, gasped at the sight of Peter walking towards them.

"Only our sister," He whispered to Michael, "Could convince a boy who is to never grow up, to grow up." Michael agreed, but did not seem to think Peter had grown all that much. Michael was so small when he met Peter he really always seemed so grown to him. James stood at the arch, and waved Peter over. Peter came to stand with him and James moved Peter to the correct position. Mr. Darling left to fetch something.

"Now, Peter. It is all very simple." He began. "I will say some words, and then I will ask you to repeat, then Wendy will repeat after me too, and then it is done!" Peter nodded, unsure.

Without fanfare, and without warning, the crowd turned to look back at a lady walking towards them, guided by Mr. Darling. She was veiled, but Peter could see her smile shining from beneath it anyways, and he smiled back at her. This beautiful lady was his Wendy, and she wore a long flowing dress with handfuls of dried flowers sewn on the skirt. This beautiful, mysterious creature walked down towards him and when she came face to face with Peter, Mr. Darling unveiled her and kissed her lightly on the cheek, before tripping over her dreadfully long skirts on his way back to his seat. Finally, Peter could look onto her unveiled. She did not look any different, in fact, it seemed quite odd to see her childish personality peek out from the face of a bride.

"You're wearing a bowtie." She said giggling. He chuckled and wiggled it on his collar mockingly.

"I can't believe your father agreed." Said Peter. She looked at him devilishly.

"Oh, I gave him little choice!" She said, looking at her father, who still fidgeted with his cold fingertips. Mr. Darling was looking at the threateningly gray sky, and at the first sight of a snowflake, sighed dreadfully. James began to speak, and everyone seemed to lean towards him in earnest to hear. Peter began to sweat, and stood very still, as he felt all the attention lean heavily in their direction. Wendy was not bothered at all, but shifted uncomfortably in her stays nevertheless. James opened up a book to speak.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Peter Pan and Wendy Darling in matrimony commended to be honorable among all; and therefore, is not to be entered into lightly but reverently, passionately, lovingly and solemnly. Into this - these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together - let them speak now or forever hold their peace." James spoke regally.

There was a long silence, and Peter peeked to see if anyone would stand against them. For the first time in years he felt the fear Hook inspired in him, that someone should stand in the way of the one thing he truly wanted. But no one did stand, and the snow began to fall so beautifully from the sky, Peter almost lost his focus in it's graceful fall. Wendy too was lost in the majesty of the snowfall, and he saw her gaze wonderingly at the flakes. He loved her even more for her effervescent awe. In catching his eyes, she smiled, and too felt a deepening of feeling.

"Peter, if you would please repeat after me…" Began James. "I, Peter Pan..."

"I, Peter Pan." He repeated. James fed the verse slowly to him, giving him little spoonfuls of the words that James had assumed (according to Peter's strange ignorance to societal customs) Were completely alien to Peter

"take thee, Wendy Darling, to be my wedded Wife,"

"to have and to hold from this day forward,"

"for better for worse, for richer for poorer,"

"in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish,"

"till death us do part, I plight thee my troth."

Peter grinned at finishing his vows. He found them perfectly wonderful. It seemed the setting to a fantastic adventure. James nodded, and turned to face Wendy.

"Wendy Darling, darling… er… dear?" Said James. Wendy nodded, prepared. He fed the whole verse to her, and unsurprisingly she had memorized it all, and recounted it to Peter with great fervor. She ended dramatically as she spoke,

"Till death do us part, I plight thee my troth."

There could be a sniffling heard from the crowd, Mr. Darling was covering the leak of tears with the pretense that he sneezed from the cold quite unconvincingly. Mrs. Darling proudly displayed her tears of happiness as they threatened to freeze on her cheeks. Michael stood and handed two strings of twine to James. James looked at him inquisitively. Michael shrugged.

"We had no time to fetch for rings…" He explained. Peter's eyebrows raised questionably.

"Wendy, why don't you begin, then? Please take Peter's hand, and this uh… twine." James said, handing Wendy one flimsy thread. Gladly, she squeezed Peter's hand and slipped the twine around his finger, tying it beautifully in a bow. She spoke ceremoniously:

"With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."

Peter was filled with wonder at the ceremony, and Wendy relished in dramatizing it.

"Peter… it is your turn now. Please take Wendy's hand." James said, handing him the twine in turn. Peter reached for her hand, but apparently had reached for the wrong one and she deftly placed the other in his palm. He wrapped her fourth finger in the twine, and struggled to tie it into a bow, recounting his horror with the bowtie, he gave up and tied his traditional bowline knot. She snorted at him in amusement.

"Well, I shall never lose it now!" She mocked. Peter smiled, relieved he hadn't ruined this moment for her.

"Peter, if you could repeat after me…" James graciously offered. Peter held her hand fast to his and tried to sink the words he was about to speak into eternal memory.

"With this Ring I thee wed,"

"with my body I thee worship,"

"and with all my worldly goods I thee endow." Peter spoke. James smacked the book closed with resounding clap.

"Well, now." He began. "I now pronounce you Husband and Wife!" He said happily.

"Peter…" He said, smiling at him. "You may kiss the bride."

Peter was taken aback, he had not expected to be made to kiss in front of a crowd. But alas, his hesitation was of little consequence, as it was Wendy who leaped forward to embrace him. She placed both her hands to his cheeks and pull his face towards hers, and kissed him lightly. He smiled and put his arms around her, happily forgetting the little crowd before him. Their audience burst in applause. John set off firecrackers he had hidden in his coat, which made Mrs. Darling jump with surprise. She wiped the remaining tears from her face and tried to be cross with him, but couldn't. Michael giggled and set off his own set of firecrackers, which was now received with celebratory fervor. Mr. Darling clapped with bravado, although his eyes were betrayingly reddened.

Wendy bowed as if she had just concluded a school play, and Peter bowed with her. Now finished with the ceremony, the magic of the snowfall could no longer be ignored. They looked at each other, white flakes sticking to their hair, and melting on their cheeks. The courtyard was muffled with the fall of the snow, and the clapping quieted. The crowd shuffled back into the building, stuffing their hands in their pockets and feeling their cold pronounced with the finishing of the ceremony. Wendy and Peter remained, too happy to be surrounded by the magic of the flurries. They held their hands together for warmth, and they both felt the new sensation of an object tied to their finger. Wendy laughed looking at her bowline knot.

"Wendy." Peter spoke. "It was a day like this, that I came to your window, do you remember?" He asked, playing with the string on her finger. She looked to the sky in recollection. Then looked at his face, framed by snow and she felt suddenly as she were still 12, and Peter was just standing outside her window. The beautiful memory made her heart leap with happiness. How perfectly everything had turned out.

They would stand in the snow far longer than they should, and only returned inside when their fingers and noses became numb. When they entered the dining hall, they were greeted with the celebration of their families, now joined with their matrimony.

The snow stopped after dinner, and they all retreated to their rooms. Wendy and Peter were granted a room in the East tower (where they had never ventured before), which Madame had accustomed for them both to live. It was a small accommodation, but the bed was large, and made to fit two people. Which was exciting, as such things were usually unheard of. She mustn't tell father, Wendy thought naughtily. For the first time, they shared a bed without having to worry how they would separate in the morning. They told stories and recounted their adventures to each other, but all in all were really too tired to consummate anything. In the end, they slept warmly by each other's side, and awoke to a pristinely quiet and isolated morning.

They would both recall this as one of the happiest days of their lives, only to be rivaled with the happiness and joy they spread about in their habitual days. Their love became timeless, and their unique connection would not be lost on those around them. Peter and Wendy truly were a match that transcended natural human bonds.

But would it really be all that unnatural to say that they did live happily ever after?

For they did, they lived happily ever after.


	12. The Origin of Peter Pan-Epilogue and AN

So now, dear Reader, we have come to the end of the story. It is quite selfish for you to keep on reading, since I have told you an awful lot, but I shall humor you as you have taken the time to read it.

It is now with great satisfaction that I reveal to you the origin of Peter Pan. He was not wholly human, as you could have guessed, for he was born among the stars. The great god Pan, in all his frivolities, had created an abundance of children who lived slumbering in the stars. Most of the Pans were to hang in the sky forever, but Peter's time had come. They can hang in the sky all they want, but that is not really living. They can choose to live, and in doing so must also choose to die. All Pan must die, you see, for Pan is the only god that really has. Do not mourn for him, for the god Pan had lived so wonderfully. He was the god of spring, of impromptus music, and fertility. Pan had fallen in love with the moon, and he lured her down from the sky to lay with him. Thus, came to be his many children (108, if you count them all!) He blessed his children with such free spirit and wonder that he had none left, and he faded. Peter, in choosing to be with Wendy, had left his star to begin frolicking, as his father had, on Earth. In his years with Wendy he spread great joy and love to those around him. He was to have many, many children with Wendy, but only a handful were really human. They were born with nearly twice the wonder and imagination, and each with a hidden kiss. The rest were merely as stars. When they made these children, they did not really know (in fact, they already had made a handful in the duration of your reading). They merely fell asleep, and a new star would appear in the sky. Wendy's Neverland never closed, for it is with this gift Peter was first so drawn to her. Wendy and Peter would spend the night, cooing and rocking their star children that they would really never know. Peter and Wendy lived as wholly as one could live, until their death, in which happened quite almost the same day. For one could not live very long without the other. They were buried together on Earth, and they live now in their stories. Their star children remain, and play in their Neverlands, waiting to find their own Wendys and to lure them to their stars, and the moon was once lured to the Earth.

The End

As I have stated before, please let me know how you liked this story. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it (although I know I got very mushy in some parts, I can't help it). I do want to improve it, and I would like your help. Please give me some honest feedback. I can take criticism, so let me know if there are parts that you are disappointed in, or things that rang strange in the reading. I hope you enjoyed reading it, and that this story has made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

P.S. True love exists! I am married to a complete weirdo but most of my interactions between Wendy and Peter are inspired by him. Thank you, Kurt. You let me read you my story incessantly, even screaming it through the bathroom door during your special time, and at one in the morning on a weeknight. You're the best.


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